


The Stages of Flying

by kurgaya



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 50,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First it was livejournal, then Skype, and then eventually Whatsapp... How else was Ichigo supposed to communicate with Tōshirō - the guy who he maybe-just-a-little-bit-like-really fancied on the other side of the planet? It wasn't like he meant to fall in love with somebody unreachable. Why would he do that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got fed up with the lack of 10k+ Ichigo/Toshiro stories out there, so I decided to write my own. I don't know what I was thinking to be honest.

**Part I: Jump**

“Oh my god I think I’m gay.”

The two sweaty, naked men fucking on the computer screen moaned in reply, and Ichigo’s dick twitched in a hearty agreement. Like with most things he encountered in life, Ichigo hadn’t intended on spending the best part of an hour scrolling through a porn website with his mouth hanging open. But if his internet history and the state of his jeans were anything to go by, it’d been an extraordinary hour of self-discovery with the added bonus that his endeavour into getting some relief provided substantial evidence that all sixteen year olds passed time with a hand down their trousers. Or two, as had been the case, but Ichigo had eventually had to resign himself to admitting that there were just some things he couldn’t achieve on his own.

Namely the budding question of his sexuality, because the teenager was fairly certain that he hadn’t been _that way inclined_ before he’d loaded up his laptop. Now that he thought about it, however, homosexuality would shed light onto the numerous glares and stares he’d received from his ex-girlfriend when they’d been dating. He’d been interested in her, very much so, but their brief relationship had been awkward for reasons beyond his knowledge – up until the moment he’d noticed the pair making erotically fake noises into his headphones were both male, it seemed.

Stunned, Ichigo returned to livejournal, completely wiped his internet history, and then zipped into the bathroom with his pyjamas. He cleaned himself up and got changed, reciting an excuse for his behaviour if one of his sisters was out in the hallway, and then hastily dumped his clothes into the washing basket. All the while his brain was buzzing with the hot _filth_ from the porn website, but he decided to attempt to think of other things, and if he was still drawn to the idea of kissing another guy in the morning then that was a problem he could sort out then. Not that tomorrow ever came.

Livejournal was an easy distraction from his sexual identity crisis, the fandom world offering the chance of mess around with somebody else’s hormonal urges (even if that somebody was fictional), and Ichigo found the simple acceptance of ‘real life issues’ in his fellow ‘fangirls’ to be comforting. He wasn’t an openly personal person on the internet, yet the availability of that being a _choice_ was ideal, as he was more than happy to cyber-pat the imaginary back of a friend who _was_ more willing to share their heartaches and woes. He liked being part of a fandom, even if it made him worry about his sanity from time to time.

He wasn’t sure how he ended up commenting on a thread about free will where half a dozen users were trying their best to keep things polite while another raged in caps lock, but before he knew it he’d been sucked into the philosophical debate and the night’s hour slowly ticked over. His boisterous father dropped in to bid him goodnight at one point, but by then Ichigo had been frantically pressed F5 to keep up with the speed of the conversation and their short exchange hadn’t registered in his mind. A user called ‘Hyorinmaru10’ added his (her?) input into the thread occasionally, each time with a careful precision for every word, and Ichigo latched onto his comments like a hawk. The ideas shared in the thread were diverse, mostly falsifiable, and weaved with a touch of sarcastic insanity, yet Ichigo felt that he could relate to ‘Hyorinmaru10,’ who also seemed to enjoy the more sophisticated and intelligent aspect of the conversation. They bantered theories back at each other until Ichigo couldn’t take the caps lock horror running through the thread anymore, and he sent out a private message in the hopes of continuing their discussion in relative peace.

Halfway through the message he lost his train of thought, so he ditched that idea and instead typed out something much simpler:

**I need to throw a dictionary at some people sometimes.**

He didn’t doubt that ‘Hyorinmaru10’ knew exactly who he was talking about.

 **Hmm** , was the reply just a moment later. **Fifty points if it goes through her head.**

That was clearly a Harry Potter reference, and he made note of such in his response.

 **Well done** , said ‘Hyorinmaru10’.

…And that wasn’t the least bit sarcastic.

 **Glad I meet your approval** , Ichigo replied, chuckling. **Do you _really_ think that robots…**

It was past two o’clock when he realised that he needed to sleep, but it being August meant that he didn’t have to get up for class in the morning. Reluctant to end their conversation but hearing the soothing melody of his pillow calling his name, Ichigo said goodnight to his new friend and trundled over to bed. He wasn’t awake long enough to contemplate the meaning of their philosophical discussion, but his mind did dig up a vivid memory of the video he’d watched a few hours before that to compensate, and the sixteen year old went to sleep with a quiet, embarrassed groan.

He woke up at six that morning shattered, grumpy, and generally how he felt every day when he’d only got four hours sleep. In terms of his sexuality he wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing, but he couldn’t bring himself to test his theory by finding some more gay porn at such an ugly hour of the day. He was sure his dick would appreciate it though, so, after almost waking the rest of the household when he tripped over his biology folder, he took a long, noisy shower to drown out his attempt at proving (or disproving) his scientific hypothesis.

The shower turned very cold, very quickly. Ichigo wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

 

break

 

“Are you okay onii-chan?” Yuzu asked two hours later, quirking an eyebrow up at his dishevelled form.

“Dandy,” Ichigo said, ruffling up her hair and pouring himself a bowl of cereal. She passed the milk over from the fridge with an expression of doubt, but didn’t question his flat tone. Grateful that he didn’t have to try and put his muddle into words, especially to his twelve year old sister, Ichigo wandered into the living room with his breakfast. He ducked under an enthusiastic greeting from his father, adept at protecting the carpet from food stains, and then side-stepped to avoid the roaring blur of his father’s second attempt at a rather violent hug.

“Would you two calm down?” snapped his other sister, scowling through her dark hair.

Ichigo flopped down onto the sofa next to her, claiming innocence. She jabbed the TV remote in his direction so he waved his spoon back, returning her look. Isshin eventually jumped between them, folding himself over the back of the sofa and throwing his arms wide with a high-pitched yell, “No, my darling children mustn’t fight!”

“Shove it goat-face,” they droned at the same time, both leaning around him to continue their sword fight.

Isshin started to wail. He ran around the sofa and flattened himself up against the poster of his late wife, blubbering up at her radiant smile. Ichigo and Karin shared a look, both mutually agreeing with a humble shrug not to throw their weapons at him. Yuzu came in with a cup of tea, patted their father softly, and then motioned for the TV remote.

Karin gave it to her. Ichigo had to stuff the spoon into his mouth to suppress his grin.

The morning continued as normal for the Kurosaki household, and Ichigo’s inner conflict was forgotten in the face of his family’s antics. Karin placed dibs on the TV after they were all finished with breakfast, arguing that her new video game demanded to be played, and before Ichigo could retreat back upstairs he found himself helping Yuzu make a shopping list for the week. Isshin disappeared off to work with strict orders not to blow anything up, something he said every day so it came as no surprise, and since the siblings had never done anything of the sort Ichigo had no problem with leaving Karin by herself while he and Yuzu went down to the supermarket.

The nearest Tesco was a twenty minute walk away. The amount of food they bought was half the reason Yuzu asked Ichigo to come along with her, but they both knew that Ichigo wouldn’t let her go by herself anyway, even if she only came back with two bags, so Karin didn’t even look up when they shut the door behind them.

When Yuzu added custard creams to the trolley Ichigo had to double-check the list to see if they were on there. “They make you feel better,” she explained at his questioning expression, grabbing a box of tea bags in the next aisle. “Have you ever thought of trying green tea? I was thinking of buying some actually…”

Her perception astounded him.

“I wouldn’t mind trying it,” said Ichigo, reaching up to grab some. He ran a hand along the shelf, hesitating at the array. “You got a preference?”

Yuzu smiled. “No,” she replied, shaking her head. “Just whatever one you knock off first.”

Just for that he elbowed four boxes into the trolley. He watched her put all of them back before choosing another. She whined at him. He stuck out his tongue.

 

break

 

He updated his livejournal when he got back. ‘Popular’ wasn’t a word he would use to describe himself over the internet but he had a group of friends (and yes, he would call them that, even though he’d didn’t know their real names or appearance) whose journals he lurked on almost every day. They were an odd bunch but Ichigo supposed that was the pot calling the kettle black – he’d had many key smashing moments after all. However they tended to make more ‘real life’ posts than he did; his journal mainly consisting of fanfiction, ranting about the newest episode of something, and recs.

He went off on a tangent about symbolism in Doctor Who part of the way through his entry, but he posted it anyway and then went downstairs to make himself a cup of tea. When he returned, a custard cream bouncing between his teeth, there was already a comment in reply – not from one of his friends, but ‘Hyorinmaru10’ from the night before.

Well that saved him the trouble of looking like a stalker.

 

> **HYORINMARU10** on 2 nd August 2012 11:17 (local)  
>  Your description of Doctor Who is intriguing. Is it worth watching?

 

He only paused for a moment before typing back, fingers flying furiously over the keyboard.

 

> **ZANGETSU** on 2 nd August 2012 11:19 (local)  
>  Yes omg have you been living under a rock or something. Go watch it right now. Start with Eccleston, he’s so sassy. If sass’s your thing. Tennant’s amazing but Eccleston’s my favourite.

 

He had a feeling sass was ‘Hyorinmaru10’s’ thing.

 

> **HYORINMARU10** on 2 nd August 2012 11:22 (local)  
>  I suppose you could call Mt. Fuji a rock.

 

Ichigo felt his eyebrows rise at the piece of personal information. They’d only just started talking! He clicked the other’s username and scrolled through his profile, humming when he saw ‘Japan’ in the location section. There wasn’t much else though, not even an age, and that made him feel a little better. Maybe he was paranoid, or maybe he was just being silly, but being safe was a lesson from his father that dominated his thinking. After his wife being murdered and eldest child hospitalised for weeks, it was no surprise what Isshin prioritised.

That was the end of the message, so Ichigo decided he might as well grasp the topic change and asked,

 

> **ZANGETSU** on 2 nd August 2012 11:23 (local) **  
> **You live near Mt. Fuji? Must be a nice view to wake up to. Unless mountains aren’t your thing :P
> 
> **HYORINMARU10** on 2 nd August 2012 11:26 (local)  
>          I don’t know any different so I don’t consider it to be the iconic wonder that everybody else sees it as. But yes, it's a sight to behold.
> 
>  

‘Hyorinmaru10’s’ grammar was shocking. Ichigo prided himself at generally using full-stops and speech marks in texts and emails, but over the internet he allowed himself a little bit of leeway. His sentences didn’t always make complete sense, emoticons were his best friend, and if he key-smashed no one was going to judge him for it. But never before had he met someone so perfectly literate. The way people ‘spoke’ over the internet revealed parts of their personality – ‘Hyorinmaru10’ seemed to be the reserved, intelligent, no nonsense kind of guy. If there weren’t hints of wit and sarcasm throughout his comments, Ichigo probably would have fallen asleep in sheer boredom.

Wanting to keep the conversation going, Ichigo let himself ask a stupid question.

 

> **ZANGETSU** on 2 nd August 2012 11:28 (local)  
>  Have you ever climbed it? Is it hard?

There wasn’t a reply for a couple of minutes. He finished off his cup of tea and munched through his small pile of biscuits, and considered if he should send out a friend request as he checked through his mail. He put that idea off while he went and got himself another cup of green tea (“Did you like it onii-chan?”) and ended up staying downstairs for twenty minutes to help Karin through the next part of her game.

He’d forgotten how difficult The Legend of Zelda could be.

 

> **HYORINMARU10** on 2 nd August 2012 11:53 (local)  
>  Yes I have. It’s a tradition. It’s not the most treacherous climb but altitude sickness is a bit of a problem. I’m used to it but the only way you can cure it is to descend, and that’s contradictory.

 

They continued talking for a few hours about various topics, their conversation drifting into private messages when the comment thread grew a little too long. Ichigo spent the space between their replies reading through Merlin fanfiction and chuckling over tumblr, but in the end ‘Hyorinmaru10’ disappeared off to sleep. Ichigo didn’t mind, having enjoyed their talk, and added the other user to his friend list before signing off himself.

He really fancied chicken soup for some reason. And more custard creams. But maybe not at the same time.

 

break

 

> freedom! | 17th AUGUST 2012 @ 12:32
> 
>   1. Kaz you write the best fanfic ever. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. (Judging you for the Adele title though)
>   2. If you haven’t read HOMETOWN GLORY yet then what are you waiting for?
>   3. Seriously, go.
>   4. Shoo.
>   5. Even if you aren’t in that fandom.
>   6. …On a totally unrelated note, my sister’s making a cheesecake. civyoabipn I love cheesecake :D
> 


The key-smash was probably overkill but Ichigo couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d gone into school today to collect his GCSE exam results and he could safely say it was the most nerve-racking moment of his life. It’d taken him a good ten minutes before he could open the simple white envelope, and with his friends all hanging off of his shoulders he’d pulled out the single sheet of paper and held his breath.

Yuzu had done the delighted screaming for him, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been tempted to jump up and down in the hallway like a five year old. He knew that compared to A levels GCSEs were a walk in the park, yet passing all twelve of his exams with flying colours gave him such a feeling of well-earned achievement that he’d actually let his father rugby tackle him when he’d arrived home.

The look of surprise on Isshin’s face had made him feel even better.

 

> **REAPERKAZ** on 17 th August 2012 12:55 (local)  
>  Oi don’t diss Adele
> 
> **HYORINMARU10** on 17 th August 2012 13:05 (local)  
>  What’s the occasion?

 

Ichigo chuckled. He typed back a response to ‘ReaperKaz’ first, teasing him about his taste in music and thanking him again for writing ‘such an awesome fic’. Then he turned to the other message and pressed his lips together, wondering if he could avoid giving out any more personal information. He’d walked into it, he knew that, and anyway, he reasoned, being obsessively withdrawn was no way of making friends.

(A shame).

 

> **ZANGETSU** on 17 th August 2012 13:09 (local)  
>  Got my exam results today.

 

He wondered if the brief sentence came across as rude.

 

> **ZANGETSU** on 17 th August 2012 13:09 (local)  
>  Got my exam results today. It’s only GCSEs but it’s the result of two years of work I suppose :)

 

That sounded better; a happy emoticon always lightened the tone. By the time he’d rummaged through his desk drawers to pull out the thick blue notepad at the bottom and selected a pen from the pen-pot, ‘Hyorinmaru10’ had replied. ‘ReaperKaz’ hadn’t, but he generally wasn’t around at this time of day so Ichigo was surprised that he’d even commented in the first place.

 

> **HYORINMARU10** on 17 th August 2012 13:12 (local)  
>  I can’t say I know what GCSEs are, but congratulations. An exam’s an exam – don’t put yourself down just because there are harder ones to come. 
> 
> **ZANGETSU** on 17 th August 2012 13:12 (local)  
>           There’s always harder ones to come isn’t there? /sighs
> 
> **HYORINMARU10** on 17 th August 2012 13:13 (local)  
>                 My apologies :)

 

Ichigo laughed. He felt elated at having worked an emoticon out of ‘Hyorinmaru10’ – he, or she, Ichigo considered, seemed like a bright spark, so he’d probably already deduced from the entry that A) Ichigo lived in England, and B) that he was sixteen, and that was more information than anybody else had ever acquired from him. Ichigo was slightly troubled at that, but the feeling passed the longer he stared at the conversation. He didn’t like the idea of people knowing his age, and it was too late now to go back and edit out the specific exam he’d taken. No one had jumped on his back for only being sixteen though – ‘Hyorinmaru10’ could be younger, but his language did suggest otherwise.

And it’s hard to tell, he said to himself. I’ve met thirty year olds on here who fangirl worse than me.

He didn’t need to worry. His father doubtlessly would, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. For instance, he was oblivious to how his son was ‘sitting on the fence’ so to speak. The metaphoric, sexual orientation fence that is. Except he wasn’t sitting comfortably – no, Ichigo entertained the idea that he was clinging on for dear life as a tornado ripped through the fields on either side. When the storm ended he’d have, with any luck, landed safely on one side, but which side was anybody’s guess. He wasn’t sure he wanted to breach that topic with his father; he’d only been fantasising about guys rather than girls for a few weeks after all – perhaps he’d never have to.

His gut didn’t seem to agree.

 

break

 

Ichigo went back to school in September, started his A levels, and for the most part forgot about his sexual crisis. Occasionally it haunted him at night as he fumbled around in bed, but his classes piled so much work onto him that he hardly had the time to contemplate the meaning of such thoughts. The expectation of being ‘grown up’ came with being a sixth form student, and if society wasn’t already asking enough from that, he also had to start seriously considering his life choices. University was just around the corner, and for that he’d need to know about finance, bills, taxes, work, and all that other stuff that his brain wouldn’t hold. He felt pressured and miserable, but he tried to keep his head high by reminding himself how much his hard work would pay off in the long run.

Sometimes he just went home and curled up under his duvet. Those days Yuzu brought him tea and his father restrained himself from making too much noise. Karin would let him have the last of the ice cream if he managed to crawl down to dinner, and he knew how much she loved raspberry ripple. He always made up for it the next day though.

‘Hyorinmaru10’ had vanished for the last week of the summer half term to spend some time with his cousin. He’d promised Ichigo that he’d taken some pictures for him when they climbed up Mt. Fuji (‘the holidays are the busiest time,’ he’d explained via a private message, ‘but the weather’s lovely and it’s one of the few times we [referring to his cousin] can meet up.’) When he’d returned he’d lost his camera cable, so Ichigo couldn’t hold back the noise of wonder when he saw that the photos had been uploaded one day in the middle of October.

 

> Mt. Fuji | 22nd OCTOBER 2012 @ 16:42
> 
> **ZANGETSU** , I hope you like the view.
> 
> ( **CLICK TO OPEN** )

 

The entry had been friend-locked for some privacy, but for Ichigo that wasn’t a problem. He clicked on the cut to have a look, and his webpage expanded as a dozen or so photos spilled into view. They were mostly generic – shots of the mountain, the stunning landscape, and a line of people climbing up the side – but there were a few more personal photos of two people who Ichigo imagined must be ‘Hyorinmaru10’ and his cousin.

The best picture was one of a small, mousey, dark haired girl standing beside a boy wearing a thick jacket with a massive hood to keep the glare of the sunrise out of his eyes. Ichigo could only assume they were at the summit for they looked pale and tired but pleased with the vast, cloudy sky behind them – but the shine on the camera might be manipulating his view. He wondered how they felt after they’d worked their way to the top, but he decided that he’d never truly know unless he achieved it himself.

And unless he risked sounding like a creep and asking ‘Hyorinmaru10’ if he was a boy or a girl, he’d never know which person in the photo his friend was. Ichigo had assumed the other was male because he always did until proven otherwise, and he didn’t really want to ask. But if ‘Hyorinmaru10’ was the girl then he supposed she was kind of cute, and if the _boy_ …

Ichigo squinted at the photo. The hood was incredibly obstructive of the boy’s hair so he wasn’t sure of its colour, but the shadow implied it was light – perhaps brown or blonde – and Ichigo frowned at the image. He couldn’t imagine ‘Hyorinmaru10’ being blonde for some reason. The boy was also rather short (unless the girl was tall, but he doubted that) so that meant one of three things: he was young, unusually short for his age, or both. Ichigo hoped it wasn’t the first.

After flicking through the pictures again and marvelling at the view, he added a comment.

 

> **ZANGETSU** on 22 nd October 2012 16:59 (local)  
>  It looks amazing! Have to add it to my to-do list :) Thanks for the pictures.

 

He’d put it under ‘don’t get killed by exams’ if he had one. Now that he thought about it, maybe keeping one wasn’t a bad idea. He certainly had enough blank notepads lying around, and hopefully he’d have the time and money later in life. He mulled the idea over for ten minutes, glancing around his room for the smallest notepad he could find, until there was a reply to his comment.

 

> **HYORINMARU10** on 22 nd October 2012 17:09 (local)  
>  You’re welcome, I’m pleased you like them. I’d definitely recommend climbing it if you ever get the chance – the satisfaction is completely worth the struggle.

 

Yuzu had just called up the stairs to announce dinner when he started typing out a message, and the sudden reminder of the time made him delete the last few sentences and put something else. His geography wasn’t wonderful but he was fairly certain Japan was a good eight – nine hours ahead of England. He didn’t want to come across as a mother hen (though that was exactly what he was), and he didn’t know if ‘Hyorinmaru10’ would appreciate the concern, so he clicked enter before he could chicken out.

 

> **ZANGETSU** on 22 nd October 2012 17:11 (local)  
>  Sounds good :D And go to sleep you crazy night owl!

 

As expected, there was a reply waiting for him after dinner. It made him sigh in an exasperated fondness, and he hoped to convey as much through his response. Presenting emotions wasn’t easy, and since he didn’t want to seem aggressive he opted for adding a silly emoticon, despite having never made such a face, and undoubtedly never will.

 

> **HYORINMARU10** on 22 nd October 2012 17:15 (local)  
>  It’s okay, I don’t need huge amounts of sleep. I thought you’d appreciate the pictures as soon as possible. 
> 
> **ZANGETSU** on 22 nd October 2012 17:16 (local)  
>            I am grateful :P Sleep. Go. Shoo.
> 
> **HYORINMARU10** on 22 nd October 2012 17:16 (local)  
>                   Yes sir.
> 
> **ZANGETSU** on 22 nd October 2012 17:17 (local)  
>                       I’m flattered you think so highly of me :D

 

He could imagine ‘Hyorinmaru10’ rolling his eyes.

 

break

 

“If you’re squeamish,” said his biology teacher, wearing the most childish grin Ichigo had ever seen. “I suggest you go and work in the library this lesson.”

It was Friday, and that meant double biology. The groan he gave when his alarm went off at seven suggested that Ichigo didn’t like the subject, but it was in fact one of his favourite classes, though two straight hours in the morning was a perfect way of killing his brain. It wasn’t the easiest subject but then none of the sciences were, and while the majority of what they learned was absolutely fascinating, some of it was dull enough to send him to sleep.

Wondering what type of day this lesson was going to be, Ichigo almost didn’t react when his teacher opened the box on her desk and pulled out a heart. Two of the three girls sitting in the front row screamed and fled to the opposite side of the classroom, while the other mimicked the boys in the room and leaned in for a closer look.

Their teacher was practically singing.  “Who wants to do a dissection?”

“Where’re the hearts from?” asked one of the students.

“Who’d you kill to get them?” asked another.

The teacher chuckled and placed the bag of heart down. It squelched and started to ooze a pale pink liquid. Ichigo had to cover his mouth to prevent himself from laughing. “I think they’re pig hearts – close in size to humans – but I can’t be sure.”

One of the girls at the back whimpered.

“Oh god, right, sorry – Kirsten, Hannah, you don’t have to stay. Feel free to take your stuff and go. The rest of you, gather round.”

She grabbed a wooden board, some newspaper, a pair of gloves, scissors, and a scalpel, and showed them all what to do. “Plenty of hearts to go around,” she laughed, tapping the box. “But you can only hack it to pieces _after_ I have evidence that you’ve found the atrio-ventricular and semi-lunar valves _and_ can follow the path the blood takes. Don’t be afraid to stick your fingers in it. And the scalpels are _sharp_! Be careful!”

Ultimately, it was the best lesson he’d ever had. By the end of the two hours they’d managed to traumatise four eleven year olds and the physics teacher, upload thirty-two pictures onto facebook, completely dice one heart to the point where they couldn’t find all of the pieces, and make a mountain out of the rest. The room stank and they all felt sick, and Ichigo spent ten minutes washing his hands despite having worn gloves, but the smile on his face was permanent throughout the rest of the day. He put a couple of the less gruesome pictures onto livejournal before his next class, mindful to thoroughly warn for what was behind the cut, and four hours later he had multiple reactions in response, varying from shock horror to a speechless awe.

  

> **REAPERKAZ** on 10 th November 2012 10:15 (local)  
>  who’d you kill this time? 0.o
> 
> **HYORINMARU10** on 10 th November 2012 10:42 (local)  
>  Um.
> 
> **THE_UNDERDOG** on 10 th November 2012 11:12 (local)  
>  dude creepy much
> 
> **HALCYONDAYS** on 10th November 2012 12:34 (local)  
>  Don’t you think it kind of looks like bean paste, mustard, and tuna curry? 
> 
> **REAPERKAZ** on 10 th November 2012 12:36 (local)  
>             what have you been eating?
> 
> **13WHITEDANCES** on 10th November 2012 13:03 (local)  
>  OMG WHAT ARE YOU DOING

 

He replied to them chronologically as he had his lunch, chips from the local chippy, and grinned the whole way home. His caps-lock shouting match with ‘13whitedances’ distracted him when he walked in the door, but he managed to bribe his father off of him with the remains of the greasy snack – he didn’t like the small, crispy chips at the bottom anyway, so there was no loss. ‘Hyorinmaru10’s’ was the only reaction Ichigo hadn’t been able to predict: he knew that ‘the_underdog’ and ‘ReaperKaz’ both enjoyed watching the goriest movies they could find, ‘13whitedances’ was able to put up with pretty much everything he threw at her, and ‘halcyondays’ was generally just quite weird in her own wonderful way. But with ‘Hyorinmaru10’ such a topic had never been breached between them (not that Ichigo entertained the idea of talking about dissecting pig hearts) –at least his comment suggested that he wasn’t squeamish. Or maybe he was like Ichigo, with a morbid fascination for anything remotely vile, and Ichigo wasn’t sure if that surprised him.

He knew ‘Hyorinmaru10’ was clever and restrained – he liked Shakespeare and dystopian novels, watched programmes that made him think, didn’t seem to sleep much, and did kendo in his free time. However Ichigo didn’t know was if ‘Hyorinmaru10’ was actually a boy, his age, where he lived (specifically), or if he had any siblings, but details like that weren’t important. Ichigo was more dedicated to ‘Hyorinmaru10’s’ preferences – sweet or sour? Hot or cold? Spring or winter? Vomiting at a picture of a cut up heart or A-OK with it?

 

> **HYORINMARU10** on 10 th November 2012 10:42 (local)  
>  Um. 
> 
> **ZANGETSU** on 10 th November 2012 14:18 (local)  
>           I hope you’re not freaked out? This isn’t something I do often, I swear :)
> 
> **THE_UNDERDOG** on 10 th November 2012 14:41 (local)  
>                  he’s totally lying btw
> 
> **HYORINMARU10** on 10 th November 2012 14:41 (local)  
>                  I’m sure I’ll have pleasant dreams tonight...
> 
> **REAPERKAZ** on 10 th November 2012 14:43 (local)  
>                            /pats
> 
> **ZANGETSU** on 10 th November 2012 14:43 (local)  
>                            Woops sorry!

 

He didn’t feel sorry, but he wasn’t going to mention that. Horror movies obviously weren’t ‘Hyorinmaru10’s’ thing, and Ichigo could live with that. It wasn’t like that little bit of information was ever going to be significant to him. It wasn’t like he was ever going to meet ‘Hyorinmaru10’ and have a movie night with him, with popcorn and crisps and marshmallows and hot chocolate. Things like that didn’t happen in real life. They were on opposite sides of the world, and that was that.

 

break

 

Tōshirō.

‘Hyorinmaru10’s’ name was Tōshirō.

And that was a _boy’s_ name.

(The first thing Ichigo did upon learning this was stroll back through the other’s journal for the pictures on top of Mt. Fuji so that he could put the name to a face. The picture still wasn’t very good but he could see now – ‘Hyorinmaru10’ was short and skinny, and even at the summit of a mountain he didn’t seem to be smiling, but he didn’t look unhappy. No, just reserved, like how he spoke. Ichigo could estimate an age – younger than twenty and probably a teenager: his height betrayed him but his face was refined and sharp, implying maturity of some form. His hair colour was still a mystery and Ichigo needed it to complete the image. Perhaps he should ask. He’d have to give it some time though; he didn’t want to come across as one of those creepy people his father had warned him about.

The second thing he did was offer up his own name. It was only fair. The break in their conversation was a bit longer then – Ichigo could imagine that Tōshirō was processing what he’d just been told; filing the new piece of information away as efficiently as how he stored everything else).

 **It’s nice to meet you, Ichigo** , said the private message in response, and Ichigo felt his heart tremble in relief. **Forgive me for asking, but are you a girl or a boy?**

He chuckled at the sheer _irony_ of the question.

 **I’m a guy** , he typed, glad that Tōshirō was more headstrong than him and that hurdle was tackled without a problem. **And before you ask, yeah I’m from Japan. We moved over here when I was a kid.**

He knew that Tōshirō had worked out where ‘here’ was. The ‘GCSE’ mention back in August had been enough of a clue.

**Ah, yes. That would’ve been my next question. What’s it like in England? Is the weather as terrible as I’ve heard or do the British just have a collective need to exaggerate?**

Ichigo laughed so hard that Yuzu actually came up the stairs to ask if he was alright. He waved her dazed concern away and tapped out an amused response, confirming both of Tōshirō’s statements with a sarcastic whine of feigned hurt and a grinning emoticon. They continued talking as before, sharing jokes, interests, and complaints about their particular country, and somehow the topic wandered into Doctor Who. Tōshirō admitted that he’d taken Ichigo’s advice and started watching the sci-fi programme – **with Eccleston yeah?** Ichigo asked, receiving a swift ‘affirmative’. The pun almost slipped completely past Ichigo, but he prided himself in (eventually) noticing it, and he deleted his whole message to gush about that episode.

 **I’m going to watch the last episode of the second season tomorrow,** said Tōshirō. **I hope the third season’s just as good.**

 **Ah, I can’t remember what episode that is** , Ichigo replied, cogs whirring. It’d be a long time since he’d watched the early seasons but he mused that he should re-watch them at some point – he’d always felt that they’d been much better than the seasons with Matt Smith. The writing wasn’t as good anymore. **Remind me?**

**Doomsday. Cybermen and Daleks trying to out sass each other. Parallel universe?**

**Omg** , typed Ichigo. He’d _cried_ watching that episode, and it took an awful lot to make him that emotional. **That’s a fantastic episode. Don’t judge but I bawled my eyes out okay? I suggest having a tub of ice cream at hand. Or whatever it is that makes you happy.**

**Ice cream makes you happy?**

Despite emotions being almost impossible to express through text, the short, simply asked question made Ichigo believe that Tōshirō was frowning at his screen, completely bewildered with that little piece of information. It wasn’t like Tōshirō to trail off topic so suddenly after all, so Ichigo just smiled and went with it, explaining how ‘ice cream makes everyone happy (especially raspberry ripple)’ and asking ‘if you don’t eat ice cream, what _do_ you eat?’

To neither of their surprise Tōshirō’s answer was a Japanese sweet that Ichigo had never heard of, but he promised to try it one day – **perhaps when I climb Mt. Fuji,** he said. Tōshirō laughed and bid him goodnight. Ichigo gave him a virtual wave and wondered if it was wrong to be so attached to a name and a bunch of sentences on a computer screen.

He decided not to worry about that until he’d stopped arousing him with homosexual fantasies. But if that never happened… Well. There’d be no need to be concerned then, would there?

 

break

 

> Doctor Who fanfic | 23rd NOVEMBER 2012 @ 09:16
> 
> **Title** : Illusory  
>  **Fandom** : Doctor Who  
>  **Rating** : PG-13  
>  **Characters** : 10th Doctor, Donna  
>  **Word count** : 5k  
>  **Warnings** : Can I warn for sass?  
>  **Summary** : 4x01 coda. Well they were certainly partners in something.  
>  **Notes** : **ZANGETSU** , this is your fault.
> 
> **(READ MORE…)**

 

> **ZANGETSU** on 23 rd November 2012 11:02 (local)  
>  Everything’s my fault isn’t it? :P 
> 
> **HYORINMARU10** on 23 rd November 2012 11:43 (local)  
>         Yes. You have an unwavering ability to induce acts of randomness in other people.
> 
> **ZANGETSU** on 23 rd November 2012 11:47 (local)  
>                 I’m going to take that as a compliment.
> 
> **HYORINMARU10** on 23 rd November 2012 11:50 (local)  
>                         Be my guest.
> 
> **ZANGETSU** on 23 rd November 2012 11:53 (local)  
>                               Isn’t that a Disney song?
> 
> **HYORINARMU10** on 23 rd November 2012 11:58 (local)  
>                                     Almost.

 

Ichigo typed in ‘Disney be my guest’ into Google and found that, predictably, Tōshirō was correct. “Huh,” he said, wondering what he should put in reply. Tōshirō wasn’t the type of person he’d expected to know Disney songs off of the top of his head.

  

> **ZANGETSU** on 23 rd November 2012 12:04 (local)  
>  Which movie’s your favourite? 
> 
> **HYORINMARU10** on 23 rd November 2012 12:06 (local)  
>          You know, this is a post about Doctor Who.

 

Somehow they’d managed to completely ignore that point and start talking about what could be considered the total opposite. Ichigo opened up the cut in a new tab so that he’d remember to actually read Tōshirō’s fanfic at some point – such a thing was rare from Tōshirō, so he’d have to treasure it while he could. He wrote fanfic quite often, though the Doctor Who fandom scared him from delving into that, but it was generally just short stories and nothing like some of the masterpieces he’d bookmarked over the years. ‘ReaperKaz’ was working on a long multi-chapter story at that moment, and as Ichigo typed out a reply he spared a thought to ask if his beta was back from Australia yet. Ichigo didn’t know ‘ReaperKaz’s’ beta personally, but when he (definitely a guy this time) wasn’t around, Ichigo tended to step up into his shoes and help out. This usually resulted in an argument over British and American English, but it was all in good fun (except when it wasn’t) and Ichigo couldn’t imagine being a beta for anyone else.

 

> **ZANGETSU** on 23 rd November 2012 12:10 (local)  
>  Well I like Mulan because it’s my sisters’ favourite. I went through like two phases of Disney because of them.

 

It was true. That was the curse of having younger siblings. When he had started to grow out of the Disney Channel and wanted to watch something more violent, like all ten year old boys, Karin and Yuzu had been more absorbed than ever into the channel. The time between school and dinner was a constant fight for control over the TV, and Ichigo always lost when Yuzu pulled out the ‘puppy eyes’ tactic.

Ichigo wondered if Tōshirō had any brothers or sisters. He prompted as such in his next reply and learned that no, Tōshirō was an only child, but he had a friend who was ‘almost a sister’ – not that he’d ever say that to her directly. He went on to say that he’d never really wanted any younger siblings, since he wasn’t good around children, but having an older brother or sister would be nice.

Tōshirō mused that if he had an older brother than maybe his parents wouldn’t pressure him by expecting so much. Ichigo frowned and didn’t quite know what to say to that – somehow he felt Tōshirō was letting his mind wander unrestrained, and that thought hadn’t meant to slip out. The statement wasn’t edited or deleted though, so if that was the case then Ichigo was content with the knowledge that Tōshirō felt comfortable enough with sharing it with him.

> **HYORINMARU10** on 23 rd November 2012 12:44 (local)  
>  I have a dog though. But I don’t think that’s quite the same thing. 
> 
> **ZANGETSU** on 23 rd November 2012 12:48 (local)  
>         Yeah there’s just a little difference there :P I didn’t take you to be a dog person.
> 
> **HYORINMARU10** on 23 rd November 2012 12:52 (local)  
>                 He’s the family dog, but he likes me best. He’s a German Shepherd called Hyorinmaru. I'm more of a cat-person though. You?

 

Suddenly Tōshirō’s username wasn’t so original anymore. Not that it really made a difference to Ichigo anymore – he might read ‘Hyorinmaru10’ on the forum, but his mind supplied ‘Tōshirō’ instead.

 

> **ZANGETSU** on 23 rd November 2012 12:54 (local)  
>  Definitely a cat person. Not that I have either – we had a hamster once, but he died. Yuzu cried for days. I tried to cheer her up by buying something hamster-shaped – I didn’t realise I’d gotten her a stress ball until it popped.

 

She’d cried when that happened to. One moment she was hugging the make-shift hamster to death, and the next there was flour-y white powder all over the carpet. Yuzu had started to wail when they’d tried to wipe it off her clothes. In retrospect Ichigo could understand why their father had left the room part of the way through the clean-up to laugh without being judged by his children, but at the time all he’d been able to comprehend was that his little sister was crying and it was his fault.

  

> **HYORINMARU10** on 23 rd November 2012 12:55 (local)  
>  I don’t know what to say… Was she okay? 
> 
> **ZANGETSU** on 23 rd November 2012 12:57 (local)  
>          Oh yeah, Yuzu’s a tough cookie. She felt better after having some ice cream.

He wasn’t sure Tōshirō would understand that reference, but he couldn’t be bothered to edit his reply.

> **HYORINMARU10** on 23 rd November 2012 12:59 (local)  
>  You’re adamant that ice cream makes everything better, aren’t you? 
> 
> **ZANGETSU** on 23 rd November 2012 13:02 (local)  
>          I dream of eating every flavour of ice cream in the world one day.
> 
> **HYORINMARU10** on 23 rd November 2012 13:04 (local)  
>                You dream big.

 

Ichigo wasn’t sure it was that severe sarcasm or genuine awe. The lack of emoticon and the bluntness of the reply implied it was more likely to be the former, and he chuckled at the idea of Tōshirō’s flat, amused face. Despite having never seen Tōshirō before, he believed that such an expression was commonplace – Ichigo came out with so much rubbish every day that it wouldn’t be surprising after all.

A prime example of this was the next thing he did: he opened up a private message to Tōshirō and typed in; **do you have Skype? If so, do you want to video call?**

He hit ‘send’ before he really thought about it.

The reply took a little longer than expected.

**Sure. I’ll be back, I’ve got dinner :)**

Ichigo almost tore his hair out in frustration before he'd noticed the smiling emoticon at the end of the message. Taking this as positive sign, he resorted to homework to pass the time. By the time another message appeared, he’d read through the wrong chapter of his text book, knocked over his pen pot, and tripped over his biology folder. His homework had gotten as far as the title and date, his livejournal private messages had been checked fifteen hundred times, and he had chewed the end of his biro to the point of no return - it had bounced off the side of the bin that sat barely two foot away from him when he'd gone to throw it away. He was in such a swivet that he barely knew what to do with himself; Tōshirō had left him hanging onto the break in their conversation with a terrified desperation for  _an answer to the question that he couldn't believe he'd asked_.  
  
He didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he’d asked – they didn’t even know each other that well yet. The question had just slipped out, and didn't dare read the response in fear of being disappointed. He knew this was probably an irrational thought ( _NATs will get you nowhere_ , he scolded himself, repeating this phrase over and over again in his head,  _has psychology taught you nothing?_ ) but he still had to flex his fingers a few times before he felt even remotely ready to reach for his computer mouse.  
  
 **I'm HITSUGAYA.T** , read the message when he peered at it,  **we can talk now if you'd like**.  
  
Stopping himself from typing out a pathetic gush of a message was difficult. He had to appear collected and happy, not triumphant and frenzied like an exultant puppy about to go out for a walk.  
  
 **Sure** , was what he settled for.  **I'm ICHIGO.KUROSAKI, I'll add you now**.  
  
He loaded up Skype, cursed at how long it took to log in, and did a search for Tōshirō's contact. Every second that passed added a nervous beat to the race of his pulse, and then that was it - it was done - there was nothing he could do but wait for his call to be accepted. He fished out his headphones from his desk drawer, titled his laptop screen forward slightly, and pulled down the mic so that it was level with his lips. Wearing the headset made him feel like an RAF pilot - he just needed the helmet and the oxygen mask to complete the image; God knows the latter could come in handy when he cried over his favourite fanfiction. His own image appeared first, the quality better than he'd thought it would be, before shrinking and tucking itself in the corner to make way for the full-screen shock of white that made up the entirety of his Skype partner.  
  
"Oh wow," he breathed, hoping his mic was working. "Look at your hair!"  
  
As for first words, that could have been better. Tōshirō (and it  _was_  'Tōshirō' now, not 'Hyorinmaru10' or a mix of the two, but an actual living, moving, _talking_ person sat at a computer on the other side of the world) sighed with a small smile and shook his head ever so slightly -  _Hell_ , Ichigo could imagine that he'd done that a lot when talking to him.  
  
" _Hajimemashite_ , Ichigo-san, it’s nice to meet you," Tōshirō greeted, bowing forward. " _Yoroshiku onegaishimasu_."  
  
Voice,  _voice_! Words! It was like Christmas!  
  
"Oh, um, hi," Ichigo replied, mentally kicking himself for sounding so lame. He had completely forgotten how traditional the Japanese people were, and he should have known really, having a Japanese lineage himself. Having spent his whole life in England with a family who had lost the need for the Eastern greetings many years ago, Ichigo regretted that he found himself wholly unprepared for the formality Tōshirō presented. He had picked up the basics here and there, but he'd never really believed he'd ever have to put it to good use.  
  
"Sorry, um." He lowered his eyes and returned the gesture, hoping he was showing the appropriate behaviour.  
  
"It's okay, you can just nod your head if you want," continued Tōshirō, smiling past Ichigo's embarrassment in a way that suggested he was delighted at the attempt. "And you're one to talk."  
  
That sounded much more like the sarcastic prodigy he'd come to know. He grinned like a lunatic at the screen and Tōshirō chuckled, his rich laugh jolting Ichigo back into the awareness that his face wasn't hidden behind a computer screen anymore. He startled, blushing, and let out a tumble of apologies.

The kettle was calling Ichigo from downstairs. He was so nervous – he just needed something to do with his hands. It was completely surreal seeing Tōshirō through the computer and he needed time to get his head around it. He was happy of course, _oh god so happy_ , but another cup of tea sounded like a really good idea: he was always much calmer when he half-drowned himself with it – that was psychology for you, he supposed. Leaving the conversation when they’d only just started might give off the wrong impression though, and while they weren’t strangers (especially not now), leaving Tōshirō to a one-sided Skype conversation was akin to dumping him at a party full of strangers by himself. Or, that’s what Ichigo thought anyway.

He decided it would be best to continue the conversation until he was either desperate for another cup or didn’t want one anymore. “I’m gonna sound like a right hypocrite, but is that your natural hair colour?”

Tōshirō pressed his lips together and Ichigo instantly knew that’d been the wrong thing to ask. He generally didn’t care what people thought about his _orange_ hair – he couldn’t pass it off as ginger, even if he wanted to – and if anyone did have a problem then that was when Chad stepped in to help put them straight. It probably wasn’t the best course of action, and they’d got in enough trouble for it over the years, but it got racist morons off his back and that was all he cared about. Seeing Tōshirō’s reaction Ichigo supposed it wasn’t the same for everyone. He wondered if Tōshirō got bullied – which was a stupid thought, he realised, because people got picked on for silly little things; Tōshirō, on the other hand, had a mane of shocking white hair. It was like walking around with ‘kick me’ written on his back all of the time.

“Yes it is,” said Tōshirō, but Ichigo had already guessed that. Only outrageously confident people would willingly bleach their hair such a colour, and the quiet reaction told Ichigo that Tōshirō was anything but. “Is it going to bother you?”

“God no!” Ichigo blurted, shaking his head furiously. “I think it’s rather cool actually. Fits your name at least.”

Tōshirō quirked a smile at him. “Hinamori-kun calls me ‘Shiro-chan’. I hate it but she doesn’t listen to me when I tell her to stop.”

“That’s your cousin isn’t it?” Ichigo asked, thinking back to Mt. Fuji. “I doubt she means any harm.”

“Oh, she doesn’t,” Tōshirō agreed. “Couldn’t hurt a fly. She thinks it’s endearing.”

“And what do you think?”

“I… I think it’s patronising, but then most people who call me ‘Shiro’ are pricks.”

His response was so frank that Ichigo couldn’t hold back a laugh. He felt terribly guilty for it, but once he’d composed himself enough to check Tōshirō’s reaction, it appeared he’d didn’t need to worry.

“You’re unbelievable,” came the sigh, but the tone was fond. Ichigo could imagine Tōshirō was going to be saying that a lot in the time to come.

They spoke until Ichigo succumbed to his hunger and disappeared to get himself some lunch. He was severely tempted to take his laptop downstairs with him, but he wasn’t sure how his family would react. To be safe he left Tōshirō upstairs (and that was a weird thought) but prepared something he wouldn’t have to eat at the table. Yuzu had left a loaf of bread and the butter out so he quickly made himself a sandwich, put the kettle on, and dashed back up to his room.

He only zipped in to put the plate down, since he was tremendously accident prone with hot liquids and wouldn’t be able to carry both at the same time, but Tōshirō was still patiently waiting at his computer, so he said the first thing that came to his mind to ease the awkward silence:

“Look after this for me would you?”

Tōshirō’s incredulous stare at the sandwich had him in fits. Before Tōshirō could ask _exactly how he was supposed to do that_ , Ichigo had hurried back downstairs to get his tea. By the time he’d gotten to the kitchen he’d doubled over in laughter, yet thankfully his family only gave him slightly concerned looks as he leaned against the table for support. Karin looked like she wanted to ask what had tickled him, but their father was grinning proudly across the hallway so she must’ve decided there wasn’t anything to be concerned about for she just smiled and returned to what she’d been doing.

Ichigo ignored Karin’s comment of, “It’s probably a girl or something Yuz” in favour of speculating if Tōshirō could hear him from upstairs. He certainly hoped so, and that thought stayed with him as he returned to his desk with a manic smile on his face.

His food was untouched. “Figured out the logics of protecting a sandwich from the other side of the world yet?” he said, chuckling around his teacup.

“I’m surprised you even think me capable of such a thing,” was the flat reply.

Ichigo waved his sandwich at Tōshirō. “Hey, you’re really clever. Don’t put yourself down. One day you’re going to be leader of the world, I’m sure of it.”

He had no idea what he was saying, but Tōshirō blushed so it must’ve been worth something. He returned his attention to his food to try and quell his surprise at Tōshirō’s behaviour – he wasn’t the type of person Ichigo expected to have a low self-esteem. He hid it well, for the most part, behind his dry humour and astonishing intelligence, but a single glace at Tōshirō’s hair was the only reminder Ichigo needed that the headstrong personality was probably just a brave face.

Movement in his headphones jolted him from his thoughts.

“ _Nan desu ka?_ ” said Tōshirō, looking over the computer screen, and it took Ichigo the briefest of seconds to realise that he was addressing somebody in his room, and not talking to the microphone.

“ _Oyasuminasai_ ,” replied a female voice. Ichigo sat very still, clutching his mug and holding his breath. He felt like he was intruding, even if he had no idea what was being said, and this made him want to laugh hysterically and melt away into the carpet at the same time.

“ _Oyasuminasai_ ,” said Tōshirō. “ _Dewa mata ashita_.”

He turned back to the computer once the door had clicked shut. “Sorry,” Tōshirō said, but Ichigo just waved him off.

“That was surreal,” he said. He guessed he’d never truly accepted that they lived in different countries until that point. Hearing a conversation in another language was like a kick in the teeth, but it left him smiling. “Was that your mum?”

“Yes. She was just saying ‘goodnight’,” he explained. He glanced down into the corner of his computer screen, where the clock was. “I should go to bed soon.”

“Okay,” said Ichigo, inwardly cursing their time zones. “I’ve got homework anyway.” He attempted to repeat what Tōshirō and his mother had said just moments ago, but it came out rather slurred and doubtlessly fairly offensive.

It got a snicker out of Tōshirō though. “ _Oya_ – _sumi_ – _nasai_ ,” he corrected, saying it slowly.

Ichigo tried again, feeling proud when it sounded much better.

“ _Subarashii_! You’re not completely hopeless then,” joked Tōshirō.

“I’ve got no idea what you just said.”

“Well most of it was in English…”

“Oh ha ha.”

They bantered until Tōshirō yawned and looked longingly over at his bed. Ichigo convinced him to sign out, so they bid each other ‘goodnight’ one more time and broke the connection. Carrying his plate and mug downstairs, Ichigo had to remind himself that it wasn’t actually evening in his country, which was a strange feeling but he knew he’d get used to it. After washing up he did his homework and read some fanfiction, all the time wishing that Tōshirō was still around to chat.

Ichigo went to bed that night elated, replaying the Skype call over in his head. He thought Tōshirō was quite attractive for a boy – for _anyone_ – and that… didn’t worry him actually. He could see Tōshirō’s bright blue-green eyes (he wasn’t sure of the colour) and his reserved smile when he shut his eyes: the tangle of white hair made him grin. But it was Tōshirō’s smooth voice; his vibrant laughter and his swift Japanese that lulled Ichigo to sleep that night, and for many nights to come.

**End of Part I**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INDEX OF JAPANESE.
> 
> Hajimemashite – it’s nice to meet you  
> Yoroshiku onegaishimasu – please take care of me  
> Nan desu ka – what is it?  
> Oyasuminasai – goodnight  
> Dewa mata ashita – see you tomorrow  
> Subarashii – excellent/great


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any references to the Japanese education/school holiday system are most likely completely inaccurate – I haven't taken the time to research it in depth.

 

 

**Part II: Fall**

"Yo," Ichigo greeted, slinging his bag down onto the floor. A round of replies welcomed him into the Sixth Form lounge, and he settled himself onto a sofa next to one of his Biology classmates. "What we talking about?"

"Christmas," said Annie, a blonde girl with far too many shoes and enough A-grades to match. "We break up soon."

"Not soon enough," groaned the guy next to her. "I swear our half terms are getting shorter."

"You're still going to Australia though," said a voice on the other sofa – Ichigo had been checking his phone so he missed who it was. A couple of people laughed, and the boy next to Annie looked pleasantly smug. Again Ichigo missed whatever had been said next, but was swiftly brought back into the conversation when Eric, beside him, snatched his phone and threw it across their circle.

"Oi!" Ichigo held out his hand towards Elizabeth, scowling. "Give it back."

She laughed and waved it around, attracting the attention of everybody else. "Ichigo's got himself a girlfriend," she sang. Eric nudged him in the side, and Ichigo pushed him back. He felt himself lighting up in a flush, despite her accusation because completely untrue, and his group of friends started to chatter all at once.

"Who's the lucky girl?" added Eric over the fussing and cooing of their female classmates.

"I haven't got a girlfriend, honestly," said Ichigo, holding up his hands in surrender. "Now gimme back my phone."

Elizabeth threw it back to him, and he hastily stuffed it into his pocket. This only seemed to spur his friends on, who took his action as a sorry attempt at hiding his girlfriend's identity. They started naming all the girls in their year that they could think of until they had enough of Ichigo denying it, and realised she was probably someone out of the school.

"Alright, alright, leave him alone," soothed Annie, and Ichigo mumbled 'thank god'. "He's obviously not going to spill."

"Your boyfriend did though," laughed Jamie, nodding at the boy next to her, and the topic was successfully diverted from Ichigo's growing embarrassment with a round of disbelieving groans and nervous chuckles.

"That was fucking terrible," Eric said, since nobody else seemed to know quite what to say.

Annie didn't look impressed. "Keep it down! Are you trying to tell the whole world? Seriously." She swatted her boyfriend's hand away. "Thanks a lot Daniel."

He spluttered a feeble defence, and Ichigo had never felt so out of the loop before. He was tempted to ask what they were talking about, but decided that he was probably better off not knowing. However he was glad that his friend's attention had been drawn away from him, and he made a mental note to try and avoid messaging Tōshirō on Skype when in their presence. It'd probably end in complete disaster, and by the end of the day everyone would know he was gay.

… _Think_ he was gay, he reminded himself.

He slouched back into the sofa with a sigh, and caught Elizabeth's stare from across the room. He frowned at her, and she grinned back with a tiny nod; 'I'm going to get this out of you', her expression appeared to say.

Ichigo gulped and looked away, spying Chad in the doorway. The giant student inclined his head slightly in question, and in response Ichigo stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. A couple of his friends bid 'good morning' to the new-comer when they noticed him, and the Mexican student just nodded as Ichigo made his way over.

"Try and get his girlfriend out of him!" Annie shouted.

"That's what she said!" groaned the boys, Eric and Daniel high-fiving.

Ichigo flipped them all the bird. "I don't know why I put up with all of you," he grumbled, and they all just laughed.

Chad said nothing, but that wasn't surprising. They'd known each other since they were eleven, being in most of the same classes, but it wasn't until all of the boys in their year hit puberty and decided that beating up the 'freaks' was a good way of showing off to the girls that they became friends. Ichigo wouldn't say he relied on Chad for anything – he _was_ perfectly capable of handling a fight himself – but he knew that if he ever did end up in a tight spot, his large, silent friend would always be there to help him out.

They spent their first two periods together, sitting quietly at the back of their Math class. When they both got stuck on the last differentiation question Ichigo resorted to messaging Tōshirō – he'd done it without really expecting a reply, but a few minutes later Tōshirō had pointed them in the right direction with a comment to 'get back to work before your teacher notices'.

Ichigo couldn't evade the subject when Chad peered at his phone questioningly, so he hastily provided a quick run-down of the last few months. Chad nodded at the end and summed it up with a flat, "He makes you happy," that would have sounded much more suggestive if it had come from anybody else.

"Yeah," said Ichigo. And that was that.

Nothing special happened in the weeks up to the Christmas half term. The school was decorated with gigantic paper snowflakes, tinsel, and a tree that was likely twenty-foot tall, and the holiday spirit was present in every classroom. The students were becoming restless with the need for a break, and the teachers were losing the will to deal with them. Unlike the rest of the school, the sixth formers were still loaded with work over the half term 'to make up for all that lost time', and as much as Ichigo didn't want to spend his Christmas writing essays, he knew that the teachers had a point. He kept this view to himself though.

The time he spent talking to Tōshirō decreased as the weather grew colder – Japan had an extremely family-orientated culture, so Tōshirō had less time to himself in the festive season. Ichigo couldn't say he really minded – their time apart allowed him to plays games with Karin, cook with Yuzu, and build up his skills at avoiding his father. He tended to keep to himself the majority of the time, so at the very least his sisters were happy that he was around.

However if there was one problem with their limited Skype sessions, it was that Ichigo found himself thinking about Tōshirō more while doing other things. He'd be watching a movie and would wonder if Tōshirō would like it, or get caught out in the rain and imagine Tōshirō's spiky hair all drooped and waterlogged. He worried that he was getting obsessed, which meant that every time they managed to find a few hours to Skype he had to remind himself that he wasn't a creepy stalker, and that Tōshirō really wasn't as attractive as what his dick seemed to think.

At one point he was so desperate for advice that he almost brought up the topic with Annie when she dragged him shopping, but amidst the Christmas chaos Ichigo wasn't sure he wanted to surrender himself to the potential torture of being the 'gay best friend'. If he was gay, that is. And he supposed that was the problem.

He wished his sexual orientation came with an instruction manual. Or a question and answer booklet – that would be exceedingly helpful. He wanted somebody to look at him and decide if he was gay or not – he didn't want to do it himself, because he didn't know. Being sixteen meant that most things were dismissed as a 'phase' by society – except some people 'knew' which sex they were interested in from ages younger than that. Ichigo couldn't work out how. Every day he asked himself if he still felt the same; if he felt any different, and would different be good or bad?

If sexuality was something that you were, then why was he so confused about it? He found that he wasn't attracted to boys on the whole, and he still had passing thoughts about a girl being 'cute' or the like, but if you asked him who he'd rather kiss, he'd have to say 'neither'. He just wanted to kiss Tōshirō.

Or his dick thought he did. His mind wasn't certain.

Eventually his internal dispute was noticed by his family. Ichigo hadn't exactly been subtle in finding a secluded spot to think – he knew he'd been found when he heard Yuzu's fretful call echo throughout the house:

"Dad! Dad? Ichigo's on the roof again!"

Isshin joined him a few minutes later. Somehow he'd managed to bring two flasks of hot chocolate with him, but Ichigo wasn't in the mood to question the logics behind that. "It's not really the weather for sitting up here," said the elder Kurosaki, offering one of the flasks. He sat down next to his son with a sigh.

"Then why are you up here?" Ichigo asked, but he was grateful for something to warm his hands.

"'Cause you are," said his father lightly, looking at him as if he were five. "Masaki wouldn't be pleased if I left you up here to freeze on your own."

Kurosaki rationality had never made sense.

Ichigo frowned down at his drink. Isshin was watching the street happily, humming a whimsical tune under his breath, and deliberately not starting the conversation. For that Ichigo was relieved, but the task then fell to him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to open his mouth.

After a few cold minutes and a couple of long sips of the hot chocolate, Ichigo resigned himself to the knowledge that his father wasn't going to let him leave without saying something. He jumbled some sentences around in his head, and finally settled with: "How did you know you loved mum?"

"Oh," said Isshin. "This is going to be one of _those_ conversations."

Ichigo punched him.

"Ow, Jesus, alright. Your mother… um," he trailed off. Ichigo suddenly regretted bringing it up. But before he could retreat back inside, Isshin sighed and stared at the ground with a serious expression. "I'm not sure, to be honest. She was so bright and lively, and I just enjoyed every minute I spent with her. She was like a sun." He laughed and Ichigo had to look away. "She wasn't perfect, but I loved her anyway. Some things she did annoyed me, but then I was a moron most of the time so we compensated. I used to think about her when she wasn't around – just little thoughts. I once called her up just to ask what her favourite flavour of ice cream was – that was it – just ice cream. She laughed and came over that night with four tubs of raspberry ripple. We were both sick in the morning, but it was worth it."

"And that was how you knew?"

Isshin took a sip of hot chocolate, gasping at the temperate. When his tongue cooled down he glanced quickly over at Ichigo and smiled, trying to coax him to do the same. When it didn't work he just chuckled and shrugged. "Yeah I guess so. She was like a best friend – and she was, at first. Then she kissed me and everything kind of grew from there."

Ichigo wasn't sure if that helped him or not. He and Tōshirō weren't best friends – they were close, but there was the undeniable barrier of being on different parts of the planet between them. They hadn't known each other for long either – only about four months. He did feel inexplicably happy during their Skype conversations though, but maybe he was jumping the gun. Love at first sight was just a load of rubbish anyway.

He drunk some more hot chocolate, and no more words were said between them for some time. Despite it having not yet snowed, it was cold on the roof, and Ichigo clung to his flask. He'd have to go inside soon, but now that he'd made a big deal about getting some peace and quiet he felt embarrassed about facing his sisters – he'd worried Yuzu, and he hadn't meant to. He hadn't needed his father to join him on the roof – he would have managed fine without him – but the show of concern was welcomed, if not a little strange.

"Are you alright now?" Isshin asked, pushing him gently. "Or am I gonna have to ask Yuzu to bring dinner up here? She won't be happy."

Ichigo shrugged, and his father shrugged back. They didn't need to say anymore, and that was fine with them. Isshin ruffled up his son's hair and pulled them both to their feet. Looking sorely tempted to rugby tackle him (he reasoned this probably wasn't a good idea on a roof though), Ichigo followed him back inside.

Yuzu fussed over them once they were safely on the ground. They shared a look over her head and laughed.

 

break

He tried not to masturbate to thoughts of Tōshirō after that.

This was problematic.

He'd lie in bed feeling guilty, but the box of tissues in his room emptied faster than normal, so he figured he couldn't have felt that bad about it.

Of course, the fact that this wasn't a just thought did still stand. This generally only occurred to him after he was finished though. He tried to make himself feel better by reasoning that by that point it was slightly too late, wasn't it?

This wasn't exactly very honourable either.

 

break

For Christmas, Ichigo got his phone updated to the latest version, and eventually stumbled upon an app called 'Whatsapp' as he played around with it. He'd been Skyping to Tōshirō at the time, but even with their collective intelligence and internet skills it'd taken them a little while to work out how the app worked. To Ichigo, this wasn't very promising, but his feelings were renewed when Tōshirō revealed that he could get the same app on his phone, and they tried it out.

 **Testing, testing, 1 2 3** , Ichigo typed for the lack of something better to say. He'd thought about typing 'Houston we have a problem' but he wasn't sure the reference would be understood.

Tōshirō's phone buzzed. "The delay's not bad," he said, dainty hands holding it.

"Well this is definitely more convenient – like texting," Ichigo replied, grinning at the smiling emoticon Tōshirō sent. "We can probably send pictures too."

As soon as those words left his mouth, an image file appeared on his mobile screen. "That's Rin," Tōshirō explained, as Ichigo's gaze dropped down to the picture of the German Shepherd. Ichigo vaguely remembered that the dog was the inspiration for Tōshirō's username. "He's getting a bit old unfortunately, so he spends most of the day asleep. I sometimes jog with him in the morning though – he still enjoys that. I took him to _kendō_ once too."

"Why?" Ichigo prompted, trying to dispel the mental image of a dog joining in with practice.

"My parents were out all day, and he doesn't like being left on his own for too long. I had _kendō_ after school and I didn't want to leave him, so I went home, picked him up, and took him with me. I don't know if he understood what was going on, but if I lost he'd growl. I had to start winning otherwise my _sensei_ was going to make him sit outside."

Ichigo laughed. "You should've taken him every time."

"Ah, I don't think my – um –" Tōshirō frowned, trying to find the word. Ichigo found that he did this occasionally – if a word in Japanese didn't directly translate into English or vice versa (and this was more common that he'd previously thought) then he'd hear Tōshirō pause in an attempt to find something that fit. Most of the time he managed to work his way around the gap, but sometimes Ichigo had to supply a word or two – that is, if he understood where Tōshirō's sentence was heading. "Classmates? I don't think they would have been pleased."

"I can imagine –"

"Ichi-nii!" came his sister's shout up the stairs, frantic and loud. "Dad needs you down in the clinic!"

"Christ," he muttered, ripping off his headphones. He missed whatever Tōshirō said, but his startled expression spoke volumes. "Sorry, gotta run." He felt terrible at leaving their conversation so abruptly, but if their dad was asking for his assistance than there was probably an emergency in the clinic – Yuzu and Karin usually handled the small things. Local car crash victims sometimes came here because it was closer to the hospital – at least until the ambulances arrived to hurry them away. Isshin may be a doctor, but he couldn't perform anything as dangerous as an operation in such a small, unequipped environment.

When he bustled into the clinic, his father snapped at him to clean himself up. The routine was second nature to Ichigo, and not before long he was standing opposite Chad, preparing for a blood transfusion. Chad was blood group A, which could be a lot worse (like O, for instance, the universal donor), but since Ichigo was in the same group the clinic had enough blood for the situation at hand.

"I hope the guys who attacked you came off looking worse," he grumbled, sharing a frown with his father over Chad's chest at the state of the knife wound. "Pricks."

Chad barely made a sound, but he attempted to shrug slightly – Yuzu swatted him on the arm for moving. "The ambulance will be here soon," she said, hovering by the bed with bandages. "Is there anything else you need, dad?"

"No, I don't think so," Isshin said, wiping his brow. There was blood all over the bed and each of the Kurosakis looked desperate for a chair, but Chad was staring at them all in his usual way, so he almost certainly wasn't in immediate danger anymore. "If you move, young man, I'll set my daughters on you."

Ichigo let himself sigh in relief when Chad nodded mutely, looking fairly horrified at the prospect. Isshin patted their patient on the shoulder and laughed.

Isshin ended up riding with Chad to the hospital, leaving the three siblings to clear up. This was another job that they were used to, so they went about it quietly and efficiently until the room appeared as though it'd never been decorated with Chad's bloody presence. Ichigo gratefully accepted the cup of tea from Yuzu, and in the haze of it all he completely forgot about Tōshirō until Isshin was back from the hospital with good news, and they'd all drunk their weight in hot beverages.

"Crap, crap, crap." He ran upstairs and barrelled into his room – he had to wake his computer up and log back in, and even as he typed in his password he knew that Tōshirō wouldn't be there anymore. He was right: Tōshirō had signed out of their Skype conversation an hour or so ago (he'd waited so long, Ichigo thought) but there was a message of good-bye. The tone was understanding, if not a little concerned, but Ichigo still felt bad. To hopefully redeem himself, he apologised through Whatsapp and explained the situation.

"Onii-chan, are you okay?" Yuzu called. He had made a hasty retreat upstairs after all.

"Yeah," he said, staring at his phone helplessly. "I'm alright." He hoped his message hadn't woken Tōshirō up.

"Do you want another cup of tea?" asked his sister. Ichigo almost said 'yes' in reply, but his mobile decided that was a perfect time to vibrate, and he cursed at the little Whatsapp icon. He shouted down to Yuzu that he was fine without one, and flopped down onto his bed. He shouldn't have sent that message to Tōshirō – he hadn't meant to disturb him. Waiting till morning wouldn't have done any harm to their friendship.

 **I'm glad your friend is okay** , read the screen. **Thank you for letting me know.**

It felt so dismissive to Ichigo that he cringed. **I'm sorry** , he replied. **I forgot about our time differences. Go back to sleep.**

The response took a few moments longer than normal – Ichigo could imagine Tōshirō in his bed, tired hands struggling to tap the keypad as he fought to stay awake. **That sounds like a good idea. Goodnight, and Merry Christmas.**

**Merry Christmas :)**

 

break

Life only grew more chaotic after that. The Christmas half term was over too soon, and in the last few days Ichigo spent his time making sure he'd finished all of his assignments and that he was prepared for the tests when he got back. (His school had the horrible idea of testing them every term to make sure they were on track with their predicted grades – they seemed to think the students didn't already have enough on their plates to worry about). On top of that, Ichigo had the first half of his Psychology AS at the end of January – he was grateful that he didn't have to take both in the summer, but that didn't make him feel any more inclined to sit the exam.

Tōshirō offered an escape from his student hardships – after catching him speaking in Japanese for a second time while Skyping, Ichigo had tentatively mused that he'd like to learn a second language. Tōshirō had been momentarily confused, until it'd been explained that Ichigo had entirely forgotten how to speak Japanese since they'd moved to England when he was so young. Karin and Yuzu had probably never spoken a word of the language in their life.

"You never know," he continued, when Tōshirō said that he could help rectify that, if he wanted. "My knowledge for it might just be locked up somewhere inside my head – you might only have to prompt me."

He was wrong. Tōshirō got a good kick out of it though.

They started with the basics. In any other language this would be the alphabet, but Tōshirō shook his head and wrote down some simple phrases instead. Ichigo could already guess what they'd be – yes, no, hello, that sort of thing.

"I'm going to assume you're completely ignorant," Tōshirō began, holding up a piece of paper with what looked like severely jumbled up English on it. Phonetic spelling, Ichigo thought immediately, and he scowled at the insult.

"Oi."

Tōshirō's eyes shone over the top of the paper. "You say ' _hajimemashite_ ' when you first meet someone," he pointed at the word, and Ichigo tried to mouth it as he continued, "– it translates to, um, 'how do you do' or 'it's nice to meet you' – it's polite. If they don't know you, then introduce yourself. ' _Watashi_ ' is like 'I'. So, ' _watashi wa_ ' and then your name; 'Hitsugaya Tōshirō' and add' _desu_ ' on the end. Then I would say ' _y_ _oroshiku onegaishimasu'_ -"

Ichigo had to close his jaw at that. "Can you say that a bit slower?" he chuckled, feeling intimidated at the long words.

Tōshirō laughed, and the paper shifted. "I'll say it all again in a second – then you can give it a go." Still, he concurred and repeated it in segments. "It's ' _yoro-shiku_ ' and then the O-N-E isn't the number 'one', but 'on' and then 'eh' so it's ' _one-gai-shi-masu'_. Does that make sense?"

"Uh-huh," mumbled Ichigo, hoping his brain was at least taking some of it in. It was fascinating, but challenging, and his attempt revealed how appalling his pronunciation was. Subsequently they spent the next ten minutes just trying to get him to sound somewhat Japanese, which was a little humiliating but Tōshirō seemed to be relishing in Ichigo's misery.

The most daunting prospect was that, now approached with his first language, Tōshirō kept slipping Japanese words and phrases into their conversation, and Ichigo had absolutely no clue what he was saying. Sometimes he could hazard a guess; a small smile and gentle affirmative gestures were connoted with ' _akiramenaide_ ', so Ichigo took it to be a word of encouragement or pleasure (unless Tōshirō was more of a sadist than what he'd been led to believe), and ' _motto tsuzukete_ ' was uttered with a dismissive wave of the hand when Tōshirō briefly vanished to fetch something out of sight. Ichigo would ask if that meant 'keep going' or the like, but by the time the phrase had left Tōshirō's lips he'd already forgotten how it started, so he wisely kept his mouth shut to avoid embarrassing himself by stabbing in the dark.

Their first lesson concluded when yawns started to disrupt Tōshirō's delicate sentences. "Forgive me," he said, hiding his mouth behind a hand. "Could you repeat that?"

"Probably not," Ichigo laughed, and Tōshirō yawned again. The entirety of the Japanese that he'd just learnt seemed to fly out of Ichigo's head at the sight. "Go to sleep, or you'll fall asleep at your desk."

Tōshirō hummed and started to pack away his belongings. A white head and a small black nose appeared at his legs, and Ichigo startled as the half-slumbering German Shepherd rose into view. It rested his head on Tōshirō's thigh and whined.

" _Hai, hai_ ," said Tōshirō, stroking the massive animal. " _Iiko_ Hyorinmaru."

The dog's tail thumped against the carpet. Smiling, Ichigo raised a questioning eyebrow.

"He knows it's time to sleep," explained Tōshirō, still moving about on the screen. Hyorinmaru watched him with rapt attention, his head tilted at the English. "I best go – good night, Ichigo-san."

Ichigo almost replied in English before he recalled that he knew how to respond in Japanese. " _Oyasuminasai_ , Tōshirō," he tried, and his attempt can't have been that appalling, for it earned an approving smile.

Awesome, he thought once the call had disconnected. He was getting the hang of it. Unfortunately he didn't feel quite so triumphant with his AS levels though: eventually his first Psychology exam was over, but that didn't mean his teachers gave him any more room to breathe. In fact, they stepped up their game as the months started to pass (they'd said at the beginning of the year that it would fly by, but until Ichigo turned over his calendar and a bold 'APRIL' smacked him in the face, he hadn't believed them). At that stage they organised a mock test every week, his friends started to panic, and all of the teachers loosened their crazy screws to cope with the school's version of Hell.

Exam season.

Ichigo liked to think he managed his stress well. He never left any work until the last minute (unlike a lot of people he knew), he tried to do an extra hour or two of revision a night, his more challenging subjects taking priority, and he attended the majority of the after-school classes that his teachers had timetabled. Despite his efforts at getting good grades (or perhaps, because of them), he still wanted to do nothing more than collapse and sleep for a month half the time. He was consistently assured that he could do still once all of his exams were over, but Ichigo wasn't so sure his school would let him off as easy as that.

There was little else he could do however, so he resolved to plough on through and give everything his best shot. Both his family and Tōshirō encouraged him along the way – Yuzu promised she'd make another cheesecake, and Tōshirō mentally patted him on the back through Skype, livejournal, and Whatsapp, and Ichigo revelled in the glum fact that they were both going through exactly the same thing.

Revision wasn't easy (it took huge bribes on his part to actually get started), but having a whiteboard in his bedroom was pretty useful from time to time. It wasn't as large as the ones at his school but it was big, and most of the time he only used a corner to write himself little notes or checklists for things he had to do. There was a drawing at the bottom though, of a tiger peaking over the edge of the board, and it had been there for so long that it might as well have been drawn in permanent marker - he didn't know if it would come off now, if he tried, but he wasn't ever going to. He was a sentimental idiot sometimes but the tiger reminded him of his mother. He couldn't bring himself to rub the small doodle off.

Generally the whiteboard was only used in last-minute revision the weekend before for an exam (it was an ideal place for mind maps after all), which probably explained why it had taken so long for the four multi-coloured pens to run out - exactly when he needed to use them. The green one lasted about ten minutes into said revision before he could hardy make out his writing anymore, and Ichigo cursed, throwing it down onto his bed and picking up the blue one instead. This lead to him noticing that his phone's message alert was flashing, and he picked it up and unlocked it, smiling when he saw it was Tōshirō on Whatsapp.

But then he frowned, sighing down at his AS Psychology notes, and figured this probably wasn't the best of times to be chatting. He _really_ needed to crack down on his work - Tōshirō would only be a distraction to his tenacious resolve. He agreed to go on Skype anyway, not being able to deny Tōshirō when he asked so nicely, and soon he was waving into his webcam, sitting cross-legged on his bed in the centre of his class notes, like an unwitting sacrifice to a dark magic ritual.

"Hey," he said. "I warn you now, I dunno how interesting I'm gonna be to talk to today - I've got loads of stuff to do." He stuck his thumb in the direction of the whiteboard on the wall, smiling apologetically. "I can't talk long, to be honest. Sorry."

"That's fine," Tōshirō replied, rummaging around for something off-screen. "You go and work, I've got things to do anyway."

"Ah, okay," said Ichigo, surprised. He pulled out his headphones from the laptop and turned the speakers up so that he could hear Tōshirō from across the room. "I don't want to ignore you though," he admitted.

Tōshirō pressed his lips together, but he looked more amused than anything. "You won't be ignoring me. But if you do, I'll shout down the line to grab your attention. Now go work - " He made a shooing gesture with his hands. " - or you'll fail."

"I'll fail anyway," grumbled Ichigo from the middle of the room, catching the glare of exasperation from the laptop.

"Ha ha," Tōshirō said dryly, apparently considering that to be nonsense. "What subjects are you taking?" His voice lifted at the end, but Ichigo knew that Tōshirō was fully aware of the classes he was taking, so it wasn't in an honest curiosity he usually heard from his friend. His face must have shown his confusion for Tōshirō rolled his eyes, leaning his sharp jawline into one of his hands. "Humour me."

Wondering what on earth for, Ichigo said monotonously, "Psychology, Maths, Biology, and Chemistry."

The other teenager hummed. "And what grades are you getting in all your - your... What's the word?"

"Mocks," said Ichigo, blushing. He picked up the blue board-marker again and turned back to his revision, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, alright, I see your point." He was getting A's, though he did have to drag himself kicking and screaming through the Chemistry course. He couldn't understand why it was a requirement for degree level Medicine - he'd always thought that Biology was more appropriate.

Tōshirō made a satisfied noise behind him. _Smug prick_ , thought Ichigo, but he was grinning as he started to write. They worked quietly; the occasional rustle of paper, curse from Ichigo, or chuckle from Tōshirō's end was the only communication between them. Every time Ichigo filled up the whiteboard he took a picture of what he'd written and then rubbed it off – Tōshirō would look up then, as Ichigo collected his next set of notes, and they'd share a sigh, or smile, or frown, depending on what expression Ichigo was pulling at his work.

"That can't be right," Ichigo mumbled, about an hour and a half into their studying. He backed up from the whiteboard and hunted through his notes for an explanation. "Hey Tōshirō –"

The screen of his computer just showed the inside of Tōshirō's bedroom. Wondering where he'd gone, Ichigo bent over his desk and checked to see if there were any messages that he'd missed. There wasn't, yet thankfully Tōshirō slid back into view then so there wasn't anything to worry about, the pair of rectangular black glasses perched on his nose askew as he rubbed at his eyes. The lenses didn't seem to have a complete frame – the one at the bottom was missing, and Ichigo quite liked the design: it meant the addition wasn't stark against Tōshirō's light complexion.

"You wear glasses?" he blurted, startled at the change.

Looking just as surprised, Tōshirō adjusted the frames on his face. "Contacts mainly," he clarified. "But they were irritating me. I only wear these when I'm feeling lazy." He pushed them up the bridge of his nose, as if distracted by his restricted view.

"I never noticed," Ichigo said slowly, choosing to sit. "Are you short or long sighted?"

Tōshirō frowned, confused. "Short is when you can see close, but no far. 'Cause like, you _are_ short sighted. Long is the opposite," Ichigo continued, hoping he was right. Nobody in his family wore glasses, so he couldn't be sure. Even his friends that did got confused with which type they were.

"I'm not really either," was the reply. "My eyesight's terrible – it's part of my condition."

Tōshirō returned to rubbing his eyes with a grumble. Dazed brown eyes watched him through the screen: Ichigo didn't say anything for a few moments, brain whirring.

"…Condition?" he eventually mumbled, eyebrows pinched together. He didn't know how to approach the subject – Tōshirō _had_ brought it up, but in such a way that it'd almost been glossed over. Difficult topics usually were – Ichigo had enough experience with that in the family clinic – but he hadn't been expecting something of that degree to crop up during their conversation. The time they spent together was a break from life – he treasured it because it was rarely disturbed by the problems they faced each day. Ichigo didn't let it.

He realised now that this had been naïve. "Are you… sick?"

"No, no," Tōshirō reassured quickly, but his response wasn't as firm as Ichigo wanted. "Not terminally – I'm not – I'm not _dying_. I have albinism. OCA1A. It's not exactly something you can miss when you look at the state of me."

"…You never mentioned it."

A shaky laugh. Ichigo wasn't sure if he'd upset Tōshirō or downright flattered him. "Well. I thought it was rather obvious."

"I didn't want to assume," Ichigo said lightly. He didn't like where this conversation was going.

"Go right ahead," said the other, his snip almost a bitter snarl. "Everybody else does."

He was definitely upset, but Ichigo didn't know why. Surely having someone not judge you was a good thing, he thought, so why was Tōshirō acting so defensively? Ichigo didn't think he'd said anything wrong – unless it was his sheer ignorance that was the problem. He hoped not, but just in case it was he opened his mouth to rectify his words; Tōshirō took that moment to quietly excuse himself, and ended their call.

Ichigo instantly reached for his phone, but a voice telling him to give Tōshirō some space made him hesitate at opening up Whatsapp. "Bugger," he said, throwing his mobile down. He'd give it ten minutes – maybe half hour – and by then he'd hopefully have something reassuring to say.

He went and made himself a cup of tea.

"Are you okay, onii-chan?" Yuzu asked. She was sitting at the table doing some homework.

"What? Oh – yeah, dandy," Ichigo replied, distracted with calculating how much sugar he was going to need to feel better. Yuzu didn't look convinced, so compelled by her firm (and frankly terrifying) glare, Ichigo sat opposite her once the kettle had boiled. He felt like he'd just walked into a therapist's office – suddenly his sister's homework was notes on his psychological health, and the size of the paragraph she'd written highlighted everything.

"Girl trouble?" she asked, tone completely serious. Even though he'd known that their conversation was about to take such a turn, Ichigo almost dropped his cup at the pure candour of the question.

"No," he stressed, shaking his head steadily. "No – God no – definitely not."

Yuzu looked at him as if that one fragmented sentence had revealed everything there was to know about the universe. "Boy trouble?"

"Um," said Ichigo, as a way of screaming 'no – well yes, technically – wait, no, not like that'. Her beaming smile suggested he hadn't expressed his intent clear enough, and with the jumble inside of his chest, Ichigo wasn't surprised.

"Dad! Karin!" she called through the house, and their black mops of hair peered around the kitchen doorway in reply. Ichigo had a sudden feeling of _absolute terror_. Yuzu paid no heed to this, and clapped her hands together gleefully. "Can we throw a 'coming-out' party for Ichigo?"

Isshin disappeared from view, the 'thud' echoing around the kitchen an honest declaration that he'd just fainted dead on the floor.

"Oh boy," said Karin, as enthusiastic as ever. Yuzu dashed across the room to help their father – Karin just watched with a smug smile plastered on her face. Isshin bounded back up eventually, and he wasted no time in galloping over to Ichigo, yelling about 'tears of joy' at the top of his lungs.

"I'm _not_ coming out!" Ichigo argued manically, fighting to keep his father off of him.

Yuzu pouted. (Ichigo had an abrupt thought that he wasn't the only one in the house who read gay fanfiction).

"But you do have a _reason_ to 'come out'?" Isshin asked, stressing his words carefully; suggestively.

"No!"

"So you're _not_ a homosexual?" Yuzu said, eyes wide and confused.

Ichigo tried his best to ignore the heart-wrenching expression. "No," he emphasised. "No Yuz, I'm not a – wait – that's a double negative –"

"I'll bake a cake!" she cried, dashing away from her homework to start rummaging through the kitchen cupboards. Ichigo tried to grab her shoulder as she scampered past, but she twisted out of his reach with a cheerful skip.

"No," he tried instead, unwillingly opting for sounding quite pathetic. "I don't need –"

She turned towards him, waving a spatula, and whined. "But you just said –"

Isshin took this chance and forced his son into a head-lock. "Now look what you've done!" he bellowed, whirling them around in a circle. Ichigo tried to wiggle his way out of his father's hold, but he just ended up tripping over his feet. "You've upset my darling Yuzu!"

"Shut it, goat-face!" A successful elbow in Isshin's side relinquished Ichigo from the grip, and the two males glowered at each other like a pair of cats having a spat. "I'm just telling her that she doesn't need to –"

He was cut off by Isshin switching targets and hurling himself at Karin. "Kariiiiiin, Ichigo's being mean to me!" She stuck out her foot, and he went tumbling into the hallway, his words ending in a painful cry.

Pointing an accusing finger, Ichigo roared, "You're the one harassing me about 'coming out'!"

"Yeah Dad," Karin added firmly, fixing the elder Kurosaki with a glare as he clambered up off of the carpet. "You don't want to make Ichi-nii feel like he can't admit these things."

"Hey!" shouted Ichigo, expression flabbergast. Karin smirked wickedly at him. "Whose side are you on?"

Isshin came flying back into the kitchen. "Oh my god, Ichigo, son, you know you can talk to me about your sexual –"

" _I'm not gay_!"

Yuzu made a distressed noise. The kitchen counter was now laid out with every ingredient imaginable to make a cake. "But _onii-chan_ – what about the 'boy troubles'?"

"Our wonderful son is _lying_ to me, Masaki!" said Isshin, cutting off Ichigo's complaint. "What kind of father am I?"

The siblings watched as their father started to bawl against the picture of their late-mother. "Oh great," Karin tutted, voice as level as ever. "Now you've done it, Ichi-nii."

" _Karin_ –"

"I'm a complete failure!" Isshin wailed. Masaki's picture continued smiling down at him – a silent confirmation of his words. "I can't be there for my children! They don't trust me!"

"Jesus, dad –" Ichigo tried, groaning with half a mind to pull Isshin away and lock him in the attic.

"WHAT DO I HAVE LEFT TO LIVE FOR?"

"Dad, shut up, you're making a scene –"

"HOW CAN I GO ON –"

" _Dad_!"

" – KNOWING THAT MY ONE ROLE IN LIFE MEANS NOTHING ANYMORE?"

"ALRIGHT, FINE – I'M GAY!"

They stared at him.

"Speak up a bit," said Karin, rolling her eyes. "I don't think the Americans heard you."

"Yay!" cried Yuzu over the top of her sister's mumbling, and she and Isshin threw themselves into a hug. He started to cry again (real tears this time, by the looks of it), and Ichigo felt like he'd just made a horrible, horrible mistake. This only lasted for a minute or so, because as he watched his family celebrating in their various ways (he glanced defencelessly over at Karin, and she'd just shrugged with indifference), he realised that he'd essentially just _accidentally_ and _completely impulsively_ 'come out' not only to his family but to _himself_ , and a dreadful weight had lifted itself from his shoulders. Admitting his internal struggle aloud wasn't something he'd planned to do at any point, but now that it was safely water under the bridge, Ichigo could comprehend just how much he'd needed to do so.

He must have appeared to be on the verge of collapsing, for his father came and patted him on the shoulder, grinned and muttered about how proud he was, and then twisted him into a headlock. Ichigo fought his way out of it easily enough, but the familiar behaviour was a welcome relief to the fear that he might be treated differently now that he landed firmly on one side of the fence. He had no doubt that Isshin had picked up on that.

"Prick," he muttered. His father positively beamed at him.

 

break

He didn't hear from Tōshirō for a few days. He tried not to let the silence bother him, and even with his family's contagious joy still hanging around the house like the aftershave of a first date, this was difficult. He felt bad that he'd upset up – inadvertently upset him – and he wanted to clear things up between them as soon as possible, but given Tōshirō's private nature he wasn't certain that a direct approach would be the most suitable. In any other situation it was probably worth a try, but he didn't know what the consequences would be if he ended up making the interaction awkward between them. So he waited for Tōshirō to initiate a conversation, and got on with other things (like work, with he knew he should be doing anyway).

By the time this point was reached, his second Psychology and first of three Maths exams had passed. Ichigo had actually gone back on his word and sent Tōshirō a message, yet he hadn't expected any sort of response. He'd wanted Tōshirō to see that he was available to talk, just in case his Japanese friend was entertaining the same thoughts as he.

 **If you never hear from me again,** Ichigo had sent, **it's because my chemistry exam has killed me D:**

Other than the fact that Tōshirō was distancing himself, if Ichigo had his time-zones right then it was getting late in Japan, and his friend was probably working, having dinner, or maybe even in the bath, so the likelihood of a response was extremely low. Much to his surprise, however, just a few minutes passed before his phone buzzed in his pocket. It still might not be Tōshirō, but he lunged for it anyway, discarding his text book and notes across the table.

**You really shouldn't be messaging me before an exam you know.**

He sounded disapproving even through a screen, and Ichigo could imagine him sighing. The thought made him grin and, feeling just a tiny bit calmer than before, he began to type back, chuckling as he did.

 **You're moral support** , he said, and then, because the world was probably going to end when he entered the exam hall and he was feeling rather insane _and Tōshirō was talking to him again_ , he added, **If I'm going to die I'd quite like you to be the last person I talk to**.

If Tōshirō registered how cheesy that was, he didn't mention it. And because Tōshirō was a genius, Ichigo was certain the subtle flirtation hadn't escaped his notice.

 **I can't say I've ever spoken to someone on their death bed before. But thank you, I suppose. And I apologise for my behaviour last week. I** – there was a pause. Ichigo smiled anyway – **didn't mean to snap, it was rude of me.**

 **It's cool** , he replied, because it _was_. **You okay though?**

 **Yes** , said Tōshirō. **I guess I couldn't believe that you took it better than I did, and I've lived with it for years.**

Ichigo's startled laugh drew the attention of his classmates and teacher, all of whom were going over last-minute reaction equations and chemical formula. He blushed from where he was hiding himself in the corner and lowered his head, fighting back a grin at his teacher's stern look. He knew he should be taking part in the warm up, but his brain was refusing to take in any more knowledge and skimming through his text book usually made him aware of how much he didn't actually know. He was already half-way to panicking as it was.

**Omg Toshiro seriously I'm going to die. Why the hell did I take this stupid subject.**

The reply was instantaneous. **Because you're capable of doing it. Trust me I know how much you complain about it, but you still manage to get the right answer eventually. Just don't rush and make any silly mistakes. You've got plenty of time.**

He took a deep breath, nodding to himself. He glanced over at his notes and shook his head, deciding that it wasn't worth it, and reached over with one hand to pack it all away into his bag. **Okay. Right. Okay. I need chocolate.**

 **Carbs** , Tōshirō suggested. **And go for a quick walk or something**.

 _Yeah_ , he thought, that sounded like a good idea. He had time, so he swung his bag over his shoulder and left the room, heading in the direction of the school canteen. There he bought himself a packet of biscuits, grateful that it was still lunch time for the rest of the students, and stuffed two into his mouth. He should've brought Jaffa Cakes or Bourbons - he liked those - and made a mental note to do so for his next exam. The hall was already set up a handful of people milling around by the doors with various expressions of terror on their faces, so Ichigo stepped outside to where the brilliant sunshine was beating down and the spring breeze was sweeping away the birds. The weather put a smile on his face, albeit a slightly crooked one has he munched through his packet of biscuits, and he settled himself down on the grass underneath a tree. Being able to see his phone screen again, he scanned through Whatsapp for any messages he had missed.

**You could do with some Lembas bread. That'd satisfy you.**

Ichigo blinked for a moment, his brain ticking for whatever movie or TV programme that was clearly a reference to. **You're a LOTR fan?**

 **Hmm** , Tōshirō replied, the word the equivalent of an appreciative hum. **You too?**

**Hell yeah. I've got the extended additions. Love them to pieces. Favourite character?**

**Aragorn. Legolas comes in a close second though. Now that you've mentioned it I might watch them again.**

Ichigo made another mental note to do the same, but only after his exams were done. **They never get old :) I wish I could quote it back to back.**

**That's a bit of an ask.**

That was a dig at his intelligence, he was sure.

 **Oi oi** , he replied playfully, sticking his tongue out unconsciously. **Just because we're not all geniuses like you...**

They conversed for a little more, Ichigo's eyes darting to check the time every thirty seconds, until eventually it was almost time for his exam. He hadn't needed to worry about missing it, for one of his classmates stuck their head out of the front door and called to him, waving him over and tapping his wrist to imply a watch. Ichigo called back and then tapped out a regretful good-bye to Tōshirō, hands shaking again as the impending hour of Hell dawned closer.

**Tell me how it goes when you're done.**

**Won't you be sleeping?** He was pretty sure he wouldn't be finished until the hour was nearing midnight for Japan.

 **Wake me anyway :)** said Tōshirō, and Ichigo felt a bubble of pure happiness rise inside of his chest. After quickly dumping his stuff and valuable possessions somewhere safe, he followed the cluster of students into the hall feeling uplifted and confident, determined to have reason to put a smile on Tōshirō's sleepy face.

(His albinism was never mentioned again).

 

break

"I know I've already said it, but you're up appallingly early."

Ichigo yawned, arms stretched above his head. "I know," he groaned, slumping back into his chair. He glanced down at his computer clock, grimacing at the fact that it wasn't even seven yet. He'd already showered and eaten breakfast. "I can't sleep though, I'm too nervous."

Tōshirō pressed his lips together and tapped the cup of green tea he was cradling. "This is your last exam, isn't it?" he questioned. "Think about the lie in you can have tomorrow."

"I can't wait for it to be over," Ichigo said. After his third and final Math exam today, he wouldn't have to worry about anything until mid-August when he got his results. He planned to spend the next month and a half eating junk food and having a great time dragging his father around the country to attend University Open Days. Which university he wanted to go to at the end of the following school year was his next major decision in life, but since there were so many remarkable ones to choose from in Britain Ichigo wasn't particularly concerned. If anything, he was spoilt for choice. (Finally his hard work was paying off).

"I'm sure you'll be fine today," Tōshirō assured. "I'll be thinking of you while I do all of this stupid work." He gestured glumly to the pile of homework on his desk, and Ichigo laughed, feeling brighter. He shouldn't, but Tōshirō complained about his work all of the time, yet he never failed to perfect every single thing he did.

Ichigo wasn't entirely sure what happened then, but one moment Tōshirō was sipping a cup of tea, staring hopelessly at his homework, and the next there was an outbreak of movement, shouting, and what sounded suspiciously like a girl squealing. Tōshirō's laptop must have been knocked in the process, for the image Ichigo found himself gaping at was blurry and dark for a few seconds, and then a pair of small hands appeared to adjust the webcam back to its rightful place.

" _Nante koto da_!" Tōshirō snapped, and the cup he'd been drinking out of slammed down onto the desk. The remains of the green tea splashed over the notebook by the laptop, but it was already soaked from where, Ichigo assumed, the other person in the room had jumped on Tōshirō while he wasn't paying attention.

The young woman (she couldn't be a 'girl' with breasts as big as hers) was doubled over clutching her sides, laughing at the success of her prank. Her strawberry blonde hair had fallen over her face so Ichigo couldn't get a good look at it, but from what he could see he assumed that she wasn't a family member – a friend, more likely. The way Tōshirō was scowling and shouting at her only backed up this view.

" _Warawanaide_!"

" _Gomenasai_ , _gomenasai_ ," she replied, but she didn't sound sincere. " _Maa nante koto nanda, kotoba mo nai wa_!"

Tōshirō grabbed a box of tissues from somewhere and started to clean up the mess. It seemed that he'd completely forgotten that Ichigo was there; watching their exchange, but Ichigo didn't want to draw attention to himself. To learn phrases and words in Japanese and to hear two people talking at the speed of light in the same language were experiences at opposite ends of the spectrum, and while he could pick up the occasional word, Ichigo generally had no idea what they were saying.

" _Chikusho_ , Matsumoto," Tōshirō grumbled, shooting the woman a withering look. " _Deteike_!" He made a swift motion towards the bedroom door – he must be telling her to leave, Ichigo realised.

Somebody called something up the stairs, and both Tōshirō and the woman apologised. After a second she giggled (Ichigo wondered if her name was 'Matsumoto') and ruffled up Tōshirō's hair – he swatted her away and said, quieter than before, " _Deteike_. _I_ _sogashii desu._ "

Matsumoto shook her head and pouted. " _Demo_ …" But whatever she had been planning on saying was wiped from her mind when she spotted Ichigo staring at them through the computer screen. She squealed and bounded forward – Tōshirō realised a second too late what she was aiming for, and thus they almost collided in their haste to get to the laptop. Ichigo actually leaned away from his own computer when Matsumoto planted her face into the camera, her voice light with one of the few questions that he could understand.

" _Hajimemashite_! _Watashi wa_ Matsumoto Rangiku _desu_. _Onamae wa nan desu ka_?"

She spoke faster than how Tōshirō taught him, but Ichigo listened intently. When she cocked her head in curiosity, he tried his best at replying:

" _Watashi_ …" He hesitated. Tōshirō nodded encouragingly in the corner of the screen, though he was still glowering at Matsumoto. " _Watashi wa_ Kurosaki Ichigo _desu_."

" _Eigo_!" she exclaimed, and Ichigo also knew that to mean 'English'. She turned to Tōshirō and said something else, and they conversed for a little while, but by that point their discussion was a jumble of sound to Ichigo. Tōshirō didn't look happy though: he folded his arms part of the way through her speech and seemed to barely refrain himself from barking something rude, and Ichigo couldn't help but feel concerned.

Eventually Matsumoto was satisfied with whatever she'd needed him for, for she gave him a hug that he struggled to get out of and then bid him goodbye. Tōshirō muttered a response and then kicked the door shut once she'd left – it was quite impolite, Ichigo thought, but Matsumoto's laughter from the hallway suggested such behaviour was routine between them.

Tōshirō slouched back into his chair and sighed at his empty tea cup. "I apologise for that," he said, and he looked so down-trodden that Ichigo wanted nothing more than to just give him a hug. "That was my friend, Matsumoto. She likes disrupting my peace. Apparently my parents let her in, but I doubt it. She tries to hide that fact that she copied my front door key for her own amusement."

Ichigo tried to smile. "Is everything okay?" he asked. "That conversation pretty much just went over my head, but you don't look very happy."

Tōshirō's attempt at a smile was even worse. "It's not important," he began quietly, and Ichigo knew that to mean 'it probably is, but I don't think it's worth your time'. He was always so down-grading like that, and Ichigo hated it.

"Tell me anyway," he prompted. "Unless it's private…?"

A movement somewhere between a shrug and a nod was his reply. "There's this new guy in class. He's…" Tōshirō bit his lip. His shoulders drooped and he let out a heavy sigh, his features softening into something vulnerable. "He's taken an 'interest' in me, or so Matsumoto says. His name's Kusaka – he's… clever."

Ichigo didn't know what to say to that. An unfamiliar emotion burned up inside of him – it was hot and it grew like a fire, spreading over every inch of his body. He didn't know what it was at first, his brain still trying to comprehend what Tōshirō'd just told him, but as he tried to think up a suitable response to his friend's dilemma he realised, with an ache of dread, that the feeling was something vile rearing it's great, ugly head.

He was jealous.

Of Kusaka.

Jealous.

Over _Tōshirō_.

Holy crap, he thought, holy _fucking_ crap. He'd had a suspicion for a while that Tōshirō meant more to him than just a friend, but between the confusion over his sexuality and the knowledge that they were too far apart do anything about their 'feelings', Ichigo had hardly given his heart's skittishness any thought. But with the way it was pounding and how unconditionally defeated he felt at that moment, the evidence that he was _possibly a little bit in love_ was stacking up against him.

"Yeah," Tōshirō went on softly, and Ichigo startled, realising that Tōshirō had caught something on his face and misinterpreted it. "I know what you mean." He glanced away briefly and then sighed, and Ichigo fumbled around for something positive to say.

"Why not get to know him?" he suggested, cringing in the hopes that how pathetic he sounded wasn't noticed.

Tōshirō hummed thoughtfully, shoulders slumping. "You make it sound so easy," he complained, lips pressing together. Ichigo almost whined; Tōshirō's dejected musing clearly showed that he was actually giving some thought to the idea of dating Kusaka. "Most people that get to know me end up thinking I'm a self-centred freak."

"I don't," assured Ichigo, the words slipping out.

"Unfortunately, one person can't be the majority," Tōshirō muttered, yet his expression lifted in gratitude. "But thank you. If anything, I suppose there might be hope that Kusaka shares the same opinion as you."

_He'll be a lucky bastard to have you if he does._

_Extremely lucky._

_But still a bastard._

He didn't voice these thoughts. Instead, he grabbed a shovel and started to dig a hole for his heart, and said, "Just talk to him tomorrow? Maybe he'll be someone who likes green tea just as much as you do."

Tōshirō laughed at that. "I'll do that," he replied, instantly happier. There was still a layer of anxiety to his words, but Ichigo knew he could only do so much for Tōshirō's confidence in one conversation. "Thank you," he said again.

"Ah, you're welcome." Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck. Mentally he was patting down the dirt of his heart's burial grave, the funeral march playing in the back of his head. "I've gotten run, Tōshirō," he added, checking the time. (No, he wasn't looking for an escape route). "Exam and all."

"Of course," said Tōshirō, smiling slightly. "Good luck."

Feeling like he didn't deserve the good wishes, Ichigo waved farewell, only letting his head fall into his hands when their call was disconnected and he was alone again. Truthfully, the exam was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to crawl back into bed and repeat the few measly hours of the day he'd already lived though. He wanted to wake up ignorant and happy. And most of all, he wanted to wake up and _not be in love with Tōshirō Hitsugaya_.

 

break

"How'd the exam go?" Tōshirō asked two days later, this time up and about on what was apparently going to be (nine hours later in England) a cheerful Sunday morning.

"Alright," Ichigo answered simply, wondering if Yuzu had finished dinner yet. "Did you get in contact with thingy?"

" _Kusaka_ ," Tōshirō reminded, chuckling. Ichigo's heart sank at the implications. "Yes I did. He's nice – we share a lot in common. I think – I think this might work." His smile was so dazzling that Ichigo had a passing thought that the person he was Skyping was impersonating his friend. This, in turn, made him feel terrible, which he liked to think was the reason that their conversation for so dismally short that evening.

It was either that or admitting to himself _who exactly_ Tōshirō was going to spend his afternoon with. He didn't want to think about that.

 

break

Yuzu sat him down at the dinner table a week later and sighed, and Ichigo was instantly on alert. Terrified thoughts buzzing through his head (had he really been moping that obviously? Did he look like a love-sick puppy? Was he about to get _the talk_ from his little sister?) Ichigo kept his lips firmly locked together as she pulled out a massive book from nowhere and dropped it onto the table. He jumped at the sound, and Yuzu just fixed him with a serious expression as she flicked open the first few pages. "Onii-chan," she said, the embodiment of the teacher from Hell. "You need to learn how to cook."

Oh.

"You can't go to university next year without knowing the basics," she went on cheerfully, ignorant to how her brother visibly melted into his seat. "Since you've finished your exams, I figured now was the best time to start teaching you."

Ichigo easily agreed. They (being he and his father) were going to start looking at universities soon – while most offered a catered option, cooking for himself would be a lot cheaper on his part. "What're we going to start with?" he asked. The best he could do was make a grilled sandwich; as much as he liked them, they weren't the healthiest diet.

"Anything," said Yuzu, swivelling the book round. Ichigo realised now that it was a cook book. "What do you want to do?"

"Well," said Ichigo, thinking about the skills required to make certain dishes. "I've always wanted to know how to prepare potatoes and meat stuff – like, I want to know how to work my way around the kitchen."

Yuzu brightened: he wondered if she was surprised by his maturity. "We can do that," she chirped, and that was how they ended up making a full roast dinner at twelve-thirty in the afternoon. The chicken breast was slimier and colder than Ichigo's expected, but he'd just laughed the whole way through preparing it much to Yuzu's disbelief, thinking back to dissection the heart and appreciating that handling meat wasn't that different. The potatoes took a while to get ready (Yuzu rolled her eyes when it took him over ten minutes), but the methodical process of peeling them was relaxing to Ichigo, so he didn't mind. Opening the cans of vegetables was the easiest part, even though he broke the can-opener and had to pester Isshin to run to the store and get them a new one – again, Yuzu hadn't been best impressed, but she'd laughed when Ichigo used her puppy-dog eyes against her. Ultimately he understood that he was terrible in the kitchen but the meal didn't kill either of them when they sat down to taste it (tentatively on both their parts), so he figured the start was promising.

"We can do something simpler next time, if you want," she smiled, putting away the saucepan that her brother handed to her.

"Sure," said Ichigo, not looking up from the knife he was washing. "I'm going to assume neither of us are going to want dinner in a few hours?"

Yuzu giggled. "I'm sure Karin and Dad can fend for themselves for one meal." They shared a doubtful look across the kitchen and doubled over laughing. "Oh I'm glad you're smiling onii-chan, you'll been sad all week."

"No I haven't," he denied swiftly, catching her knowing gaze.

Thankfully she didn't press the subject. She was perceptive like that. "Well, if you ever need to take your mind off something, cooking's always a good option." She danced over to him with a smile and wrapped her arms around his waist. Ichigo rolled his eyes and swatted her away good-naturedly, but she looked like she'd achieved her goal as she went back to pottering around the cupboards.

Stupid little perfect sister, he thought.

He remembered to send Tōshirō a picture of his masterpiece once Yuzu had bribed the family into playing a game of Cluedo with her. Karin had handed him Miss Scarlet and said he wasn't allowed to change character (even after he dived for Professor Plum), and he'd sulked good-naturedly for fifteen minutes until he'd managed to get her to reveal a key card. His face had lit up without his consent, and Karin had tutted and snatched it back once he was done.

"I hope you wrote that down," she muttered.

"Hell yeah I got that down," Ichigo grinned, the 'murder' starting to formulate in his head. Now he recalled why he'd always loved this game as a child.

He won, eventually, though Isshin gave it his best attempt and nearly got all of the correct information. They half-heartedly congratulated him and then made him clear up the board as a 'prize' for winning. Of course, Yuzu had helped; Karin and Isshin had made their way into the kitchen to scrounge the cupboards for food. Ichigo and Yuzu shared a knowing look across the board.

 

break

Things went on. Ichigo's seventeenth birthday passed without a huge amount of celebration – his friends on livejournal shared various degrees of birthday wishes (as per usual he had a caps-lock conversation with '13whitedances', and 'ReaperKaz' wrote him a remarkable story that he absolutely gushed over), and he had a brief Skype session with Tōshirō. He helped Yuzu make his own birthday cake, which allowed him to put whatever he wanted into and on top of it, and they ordered Chinese for dinner that night.

After his birthday, the next significant date on the calendar was results day. Having felt like he'd been to every University Open Day imaginable, Ichigo knew exactly what universities he wanted to apply to. His father was glad, since getting up at crack of dawn to prepare for up to a six hour car drive wasn't something he wanted to repeat that often, to which Ichigo had muttered nervously that Newcastle was one of his favourite universities, and that he was 'really sorry about that'. As everybody but Ichigo had anticipated, his grades were straight As, and each of his teachers took the time to commend his hard work – his Chemistry teacher more than the others. She'd been enchanted to hear that he was going to endure her subject for another year – watching her smirk made Ichigo wonder if he'd made a terrible, terrible choice, but he was quickly assured that he hadn't. Tōshirō had been delighted when Ichigo had shared the good news, and in turn announced that he'd passed his university entrance exam and was set to continue his education in one of the top establishments in the country.

Kusaka came up in conversation occasionally, but for the most part, Ichigo left it alone. "He's a nut – crazy – but he's really bright and funny," Tōshirō had explained when Ichigo had prompted, on a whim, what precisely he saw in the guy. "We've got a similar sense of humour, though sometimes he takes things too far. But we understand each other – he reminds me of you, actually, which I find strange, but I don't think that's a bad thing."

Ichigo had a feeling that Tōshirō wasn't thinking about what he was saying full stop, but he wisely kept his mouth shut at that tiny titbit of information. Tōshirō seemed genuinely happy with Kusaka, and although Ichigo would have liked to have had a chance, being on the other side of the world posed too much of a problem. All he could do was sit back and be Tōshirō's friend, and he wouldn't ever take that for granted. He was glad they'd met.

With the majority relationships, however, things didn't always seem smooth between Tōshirō and Kusaka. With the snippets of information that he'd heard, Ichigo knew he couldn't place the blame solely on one person. Tōshirō's social anxiety wasn't something that could simply be overcome, even for someone as voluble and determined as Kusaka. And while they shared a lot in common, Kusaka's exuberant personality appeared to rub Tōshirō the wrong way more often than not. Kusaka was a dreamer, and a big one at that, and his attempts at raising Tōshirō's feet from the ground were met with an unanticipated amount of opposition. Privately, Ichigo was thrilled that his friend could be stubborn – his worries that Tōshirō let himself be pushed around weren't unfounded – but it wasn't until the year was drawing to a close that he realised even the best resistance would give eventually.

"That's such an incredibly _British_ thing to do," Tōshirō said to the screen, shaking his head with an entertained smile as Ichigo shoved another custard cream into his mouth. It was morning in England, and already Ichigo was giving himself diabetes.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with tea and custard creams," argued the ginger incredulously, grinning around the biscuit. He picked up his mug and tipped in towards the camera to emphasise his point, chuckling against the china rim when Tōshirō rolled his eyes. "I should have asked dad to buy scones when he went shopping. And raspberry jam and clotted cream - oh, _Heaven_."

He continued sipping his tea as he chattered on about how _bourbons are pretty awesome you know, have you ever had one? Oh and jaffa cakes - they're the best but they're actually biscuits, not cakes - the government like to confuse us - well okay, not the_ _government_ _but you get what I mean,_ and how, _you know, you're kinda like a custard cream now that I think about it. You're pale and small but you're sorta pretty like the little swirls on the outside, and you have a hard layer but you're softer in the middle and you're surprisingly sweet but that's really nice actually - you'd probably taste just as good -_

Ichigo plopped another biscuit into his mouth as he said this, contemplating the logistics of the metaphor and completely unaware of the daze he was causing through the screen. Tōshirō had slumped back part of the way through the tirade with an expression of barely contained reverence, his eyes bright with a mirthful pleasure as he nodded and hummed along with Ichigo's philosophical comparison. He chipped in with a hesitant, "Should I be flattered or concerned?" about two minutes in, and was assured quite firmly that he shouldn't be insulted _\- no no, the opposite actually, really - I wonder if I've had a little bit too much sugar -_ and decided the safest move was just to relax and let Ichigo's brain run it's course.

If Ichigo noticed that Tōshirō's smile was a little more radiant than normal he made no comment, though his dazzling grin may have suggested otherwise. He calmed eventually, after his fourth cup of tea, but Tōshirō continued smiling right up to the point when he got a text on his phone. Delighted expression plummeting, he heaved a sigh, and Ichigo clicked his mouth shut, sitting up with a morose interest.

"What's up?" he asked.

Tōshirō was flicking through his phone. "It's nothing," he said, not looking up.

"You look like someone's just kicked your dog."

"Blunt as ever," Tōshirō noted. Hyorinmaru whined from somewhere in the room. Ichigo flushed; he could feel his ears turning red. "It's just Kusaka," Tōshirō went on, in the same tone of voice that someone would say 'it's just a spider' to a person with arachnophobia, letting his mobile tumble harshly onto his desk. He sighed again and rested his chin on one hand. "He wants –" He reconsidered, looking frustrated. "Oh I don't even know what he wants."

Ichigo felt like the world's greatest idiot when he said, "Ask?"

Tōshirō blew his fringe up; it flopped back down against his face, defeated. "He doesn't listen to me. He's so set in his ways."

He looked… sad.

"Talk to me?" Ichigo prompted, trying to sound as inviting as possible. He may only been a face on a camera and some words on a screen, but listening to people was something he was good at. He was dreadful at getting the words out himself, but he hoped Tōshirō knew that he would always be willing to hear what he had to say.

Tōshirō shook his head. "There's nothing to say," he muttered, glancing down at his mobile. "How's your cooking skills coming along?"

Ichigo let the matter drop. He started talking about how he was making meals by himself now and how proud his sister was, keeping a close eye on his friend's appearance. This behaviour continued on beyond that single conversation (Ichigo himself hardly aware of it), through the days and the weeks leading up to the New Year. As the weather grew darker Tōshirō's expression seemed to do the same, but it was a weary coldness that settled onto his face like fallen snow, and not the bitter, numbing chill the Northern winds carried with them. Only suspecting what the heart of the problem was, Ichigo found that there was little he could do to truly make a difference. He offered what he could in the form of lively conversations and a bright friendship, and they at least seemed to distract Tōshirō from whatever was on his mind.

Firstly, Ichigo had believed that Kusaka was the cause. However he later reasoned that Tōshirō's frown was too deep, too enduring, for one boy to be the only problem, and had thus tried to figure out what else could be bothering his friend. He realised, then, that a question like that had a lot of answers to choose from – from school stress to broken friendships, to the more extreme like family issues or the death of a loved one. Hoping it wasn't the latter, Ichigo started looking out for signs when they Skyped that would reveal Tōshirō's parent's behaviour – luckily nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and by that point Ichigo was too concerned to comprehend how much his own father's overprotectiveness was rubbing off on him.

With Tōshirō's birthday around the corner, Ichigo vowed to cheer him up. He'd managed to talk his way into getting his address – he had a feeling Tōshirō thought he was joking when he said he'd send him a birthday present – so he could only hope that the gift would be received on time. Unaware of how long it took for a parcel to travel half way across the world, Ichigo had mailed it with adequate time to spare. Ultimately this meant he'd entirely forgotten about it until he saw Tōshirō walk into his room carrying the box in his hands, flipping it over a few times as he sat down. Ichigo took all of two seconds to spot the familiar scrawl of writing on one side, and his heart leapt up into his mouth as his stomach dropped. He must have been blushing furiously for Tōshirō's eyes only flickered to his for a second, before dropping back down to inspect the package.

"Ichigo-san…" he said slowly. "Is this from you?"

Ichigo tried to say 'yes' but it came out in a messy mumble. His expression reflecting exactly how Ichigo felt, Tōshirō carefully opened the package and pulled out the two things inside. One was an envelope in which Ichigo had written a short letter, and the other was a mug wrapped excessively in bubble wrap. Ichigo prayed that it hadn't been damaged during the long journey.

"Happy birthday," he said, desperate to fill the awkward quiet. "I didn't know if it was going to arrive on time, but looks like it did."

Having unwrapped the mug and read the words 'HAVE YOU TRIED TURNING IT ON AND OFF AGAIN?' printed in bold letters on the side, Tōshirō quirked a smile. "You're unbelievable."

Ichigo gave himself a mental pat on the back. "You're welcome. Do anything special today?"

"Not really - we did have a small celebration though," Tōshirō said, attempting to quell the nervous blush on his friend's face. Ichigo's headphones crackled at that, and he almost missed the next sentence. "– what do you call it? When you order food in?"

"Take-out," he said, smiling at the bemused expression. He wasn't sure why it was called 'take-out' either, when the idea was that you didn't go out to eat. He figured the English language enjoyed being confusing like that.

"It was Indian. My parents weren't keen on it, but I thought it was – interesting." Tōshirō's eyebrows pinched, as if that wasn't quite the word he was looking for. "I'd never had it before. Oh, and my Grandmother made _amanattō_ – I don't think there's a word for it in English. It's a sweet made of beans covered in sugar and syrup."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought you didn't like sweet things."

"It's an exception," the other said, smiling. Ichigo felt like he'd done a darn good job at brightening up Tōshirō's day.

Two days later he finally understood.

He'd just finished breakfast when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Not the least surprised, he knew Tōshirō was patient enough to wait until he'd washed up and got himself another drink, so he busied himself in the kitchen for a few minutes until he had both hands free to reach for his mobile. There was a standard greeting on Whatsapp, but something struck Ichigo as odd about it – he couldn't put his finger down on it, so he brushed the thought aside and tapped out a reply, scarcely avoiding Karin as she glided into the kitchen.

"You and that stupid phone," she murmured half-heartedly, and he mumbled an apology, never taking his eyes away from the screen. He supposed that proved her point.

 **Do you want to Skype?** he asked Tōshirō,crashing down onto the sofa. Karin's video game was on pause on the TV – better than watching some of the crap she liked to laugh at, he mused.

**Ah not today, sorry.**

He shrugged to himself, but just as he started to change the conversation, the bubble of concern from before rose back up, and Ichigo found himself asking something else entirely: **That's okay, are you alright?**

 **Yes, fine,** came Tōshirō's short answer. Ichigo frowned. That was a little too blunt, even for Tōshirō. Maybe it was nothing – maybe Tōshirō was fine – but unless he was reassured that it was 'just a bad day,' Ichigo was going to listen to his instincts.

**What's wrong?**

**Nothing's wrong. I'm okay.**

**I don't believe you. Is it school? Home? Kusaka?**

The break in their conversation indicated that there _was_ something on Tōshirō's mind – Ichigo's gut was generally quite reliable – and that he didn't want to talk about it. His frown deepened – now he was definitely worried.

**I'm your friend Toshiro, I won't judge if you want to talk about it.**

**Kusaka.**

"Dammit," grumbled Ichigo. He _knew_ it.

**What happened?**

**We broke up yesterday.**

Ichigo couldn't hold back a cheer, suddenly glad that they weren't Skyping. He'd never really gotten over his jealously, and he didn't think he would be able to hide such thoughts from his face if they were on webcam. However it still stood that Tōshirō was clearly distressed about the situation, so he forced his glee down and prompted the conversation to continue with a simple, **?**

(He hoped it didn't come across as insensitive).

**We had a fight.**

"Christ," said Ichigo, gritting his teeth. He could _hear_ Tōshirō's sigh.

**It was silly. He hit Hyorinmaru for misbehaving, and I told him not to do that – that we don't hit animals. Kusaka just**

Kusaka just…?

 **Exploded** , Tōshirō went on after a pause. **Half of what he was yelling wasn't even remotely related to Hyorinmaru – I didn't understand why he was so angry. He was furious – he said I should**

Another break; Tōshirō reconsidered. Ichigo's frown deepened – that wasn't like him at all.

**He just said things. Hyorinmaru started barking when he wouldn't stop. My father came up to see what was going on. I was so embarrassed. I didn't understand what I'd done.**

There were many, many questions on the tip of Ichigo's tongue, barging against his teeth in desperation to burst out, but he swallowed them done and typed back, **Are you okay?** It was a vague and somewhat inappropriate question, but he hoped Tōshirō was notice the depth of his concern.

**I don't know.**

Fuck it, Ichigo thought. They were going to Skype right now. He needed to see Tōshirō – or at the very least hear him. The topic was sensitive but their messages didn't reflect that – it wasn't intimate enough.

**Toshiro seriously can we Skype? Please?**

_Please say yes, please say yes…_

**Alright. Just a voice call though.**

Skype didn't load fast enough. He plugged his headphones into his phone as the call connected – he figured there was no point loading up the computer – and then went and sat out on the stairs to get some seclusion from his family.

"– rinmaru, _oide_ ," Tōshirō was saying, the rustling of clothes and the panting of a dog in the background. " _Osuwari_."

Ichigo realised Tōshirō must be preparing to take Hyorinmaru for a walk. He spared a thought that hearing dog commands in another language was weird, and waited patiently for Tōshirō's front door to click shut to signify that they could talk in private.

"Sorry," Tōshirō said down the phone.

"Don't apologise," Ichigo said immediately. "Now tell me what's going through your head."

"Too much," Tōshirō sighed. "I don't know where to begin."

Ichigo supposed he'd have to start for him then. "Did Kusaka's behaviour surprise you?"

"Yes. No." He thought about it. In the distance, Hyorinmaru barked at something. "We'd been conflicting – conflicting? – for a while now: I expected him to bring up the subject at some point. I didn't notice at first, but we have such different views and I – we argued a bit. He didn't like that I didn't always agree."

Dick, thought Ichigo.

"Being around him wasn't fun anymore," Tōshirō went on gravely. "His parents couldn't stand the sight of me anyway – I should have listened to them. I could have avoided having to watch my father rugby tackle my boyfriend to stop him from breaking things." He groaned almost humorously. "God I hate being lectured. Matsumoto's going to have a _ball_."

Ichigo winced. "I'm sure she'll be very sympathetic," he muttered. There was a beat, and then they both started to laugh. "She's going to go _insane_ isn't she?"

"She's going to go on a _murdering rampage_. She's _terrifying_."

Despite having hardly met Matsumoto, Ichigo could imagine her in all her horrifying glory. "I would _not_ want to be on the wrong side of her," he groaned. Tōshirō continued chuckling.

"I agree. That's why I let her get away with so many things. Kusaka won't know what's hit him."

Ichigo snorted, and then said frankly, "I have no sympathy."

There was a moment's pause before a thoughtful hum echoed down the call. "Neither do I – oh Hyorinmaru! _Sagare_! Honestly, sometimes I wonder you stupid animal… No! I mean – _sagare_!"

"Having trouble?" Ichigo teased. He was glad that the conversation had lightened up – he didn't know if they'd talk more about Kusaka in detail at some point (he still wanted to know exactly what had happened) – but Tōshirō sounded much more like himself now. The weight of whatever had been on his shoulders seemed to have lifted now that Kusaka was out of the picture, and Ichigo grinned stupidly to himself.

"Piss off," Tōshirō hissed. Ichigo's bellowing laughter rang down the phone. Yuzu stuck her head around the doorway to see what he was up to. He gave her a thumbs up and she disappeared back into the living room.

"Oh man," he gasped, clutching his stomach with his free hand. "This reminds me of the time I went to Alton Towers – did I ever tell you about that?"

"No," said Tōshirō, sounding just as breathless. "Tell me now."

"Alright, well, my dad had this great idea…"

 

**End of Part II**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INDEX OF JAPANESE.
> 
> Hajimemashite – it's nice to meet you  
> Watashi wa Hitsugaya Tōshirō desu – my name's Hitsugaya Tōshirō / I am Hitsugaya Tōshirō  
> Yoroshiku onegaishimasu – please take care of me  
> Akiramenaide – keep trying  
> Motto tsuzukete – please go on  
> Hai – yes  
> Iiko – good boy/girl  
> Oyasuminasai – good night  
> Nante koto da – Jesus! (an exclamation of frustration/surprise)  
> Warawanaide – stop laughing  
> Gomenasai – sorry  
> Maa nante koto nanda – oh my god  
> Kotoba mo nai wa – I'm speechless  
> Chikusho – damn it  
> Deteike – get out  
> Isogashii desu – I'm busy  
> Demo – but  
> Onamae wa nan desu ka – what's your name  
> Eigo – English  
> Oide – come  
> Osuwari – sit  
> Sagare – go back (like when you tug on a dog's lead and say 'back/leave')


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I got distracted by a brief obsession with Skyfall, hit a writer's block, and had a really stressful time with life.
> 
> This chapter's slightly shorter than the last, but it's actually only half of the chapter! Yes, chapter three has gotten so long (currently 17k and there's some large scenes missing) that I've split it into two. So as an apology for making you wait longer than a month and then giving you a shorter chapter, there will be another chapter at some point! Great, huh?
> 
> I swear to god this was meant to be a short story.

**Part III: Climb**

**So,** Ichigo typed, six months later on his way to class. **Doing anything interesting in the summer holidays?**

It was a lame conversation starter but he didn’t mind. If neither of them were doing anything then that was cool – they’d have more time to talk, he supposed, even if they had less to talk about. He supposed Tōshirō would be climbing up Mt. Fuji again at some point, with his cousin Hinamori and the rest of the world’s population, but that wouldn’t take up the whole of the summer. Unless a tragic accident befell upon them or something and they got stuck up the mountain, but Ichigo figured that Tōshirō had enough sense not to get himself into such situations. He didn’t know about Hinamori though – he’d have to ask.

Since he wasn’t expecting a reply straight away he almost missed the message as he wandered into the school canteen (he should give Tōshirō more credit), but there was nothing he could do as his phone flashed away until he’d decided on what to eat for lunch. He almost got out his phone to ask Tōshirō if he should have chicken or macaroni, (he was almost eighteen and he still struggled to make the choice on what to eat) but the dinner lady standing opposite him was looking a bit impatient so he randomly pointed at one the dishes.

Ichigo nearly dropped his plate when his phone vibrated again. Silently cursing himself for starting a conversation at such a stupid time, he hurriedly paid for his meal and dashed off to his Math class. Since it was exam season he didn’t have many classes anymore – after taking the respective exams his teachers had nothing left to teach them and so let them go. Some of them were more reluctant than others, but that was due to the fact that Ichigo’s year weren’t going to return, and instead would be running off to different parts of the country for university and other things: apprentices, jobs, gap years… Ichigo was looking forward to it, but he was sad to move on.

 **I’m going on a plane for the first time** , said Tōshirō’s reply, once Ichigo had settled himself down and nodded a greeting to Chad. **Little bit excited.**

 **Ooh** , he typed back, glad for his friend. **Where are you going? England? :P**

**Got it in one.**

He dropped his bottle of water all over the desk.

What.

_What._

_What???_

Some of his classmates laughed and the girl sitting behind him raided the teacher’s desk for a box of tissues: he thanked her and mopped up the mess, but his hands were shaking and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his phone. Heartbeat like thunder inside of his head, he prayed to God that Tōshirō wasn’t playing a cruel joke on him and typed back, deleting the message three times because of his atrocious spelling:

**omg I was kidding!**

He didn’t want to read the reply.

**I’m not :) You said you didn’t have any plans for the second and third weeks of August…?**

**You’re serious** , he said calmly, but inwardly he was screaming. Chad looked concerned beside him.

**Completely.**

**I** – his hands hovered over the keypad – **don’t know what to say.**

He couldn’t fathom his thoughts into something eligible. He was probably coming across as disinterested at the idea of meeting up and he needed to right that immediately, but for the life of him he couldn’t get his brain to work. His heart was pounding and he must have looked like a nervous wreck for his teacher was suddenly standing by his desk, peering down at him.

“Do you need to get some air, Ichigo?” she asked, fretful. “The lesson hasn’t started yet.”

He took the opportunity to escape without a second’s thought. “Yes – yes, thank you,” he gasped, honestly sounding like he was on the verge of hyperventilating. “Sorry,” he added a moment later, but by that point he was half out of the door and she undoubtedly didn’t hear him.

 **You could start by telling me if they’re any cheap hotels near where you live,** said Tōshirō once Ichigo had worked up the courage to see what he’d written. **If that won’t bother you.**

He sounded so hopeful that Ichigo actually had to sit down in the middle of the path to stop himself from jumping up and down like a lunatic.

**Bother me? Fuck you’re staying with us, we’ve got a guest bedroom omfg you’re actually coming over holy shit I cant**

His grammar deteriorated as he typed, and he knew that Tōshirō would be able to deduce his overwhelming exuberance through it.

**Are you okay?**

“Prick,” Ichigo grumbled – a passing student jolted in offence.

**Jesus christ Toshiro how am I meant to do math now I can’t omg shit**

**I’m sorry, should I have waited till later?**

**NO no omg thank you. My teacher thinks I’m having a panic attack she actually sent me out**

He laughed and laughed and suddenly he couldn’t stop. He’d never felt so _amazing_ and _relieved_ before – at this rate he was going to work himself up so much that he was probably going to be sick with sheer excitement later, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn. He knew he should probably return to class and eat his lunch but nothing, _nothing_ was more important at that moment than Tōshirō and their plans for the summer. So he stayed outside, curled up against the Maths building, and gushed until he was exhausted with it, and then gushed some more.

 **We’re Skyping when I get home** , he said, thinking how he was going to let Tōshirō _hear_ just how happy he was. **I know it’ll be late, but stay up for me yeah?**

**Of course.**

He returned to class a beaming, jittering mess, and hardly got any work done. His teacher just rolled her eyes: with the exam looming, it was his problem now. A few hours later, sliding his key into the Kurosaki Clinic front door, he was still feeling much the same, but thankfully his excitement didn’t affect his skills at dodging the over-enthusiastic greeting from his bellowing father. Too hyped up to be bothered with his family for the time being, Ichigo let Isshin fly out of the house and then kicked the door shut behind him: he waved quickly to Karin and Yuzu when he past the living room, pointing at the door and mouthing ‘just leave him out there’, and then dashed upstairs.

He spent the next hour decidedly avoiding his revision and instead chatting to Tōshirō about their plans over the summer. Tōshirō revealed that he’d had the idea of spending a few weeks in England for a couple of months, but without solid funds or parental permission, he hadn’t brought the subject up in case it ended in disappointment if he couldn’t go.

“But I got a job,” he went on, his desk cluttered with notebooks and papers and leaflets and travel brochures. “And once I told my parents what I was planning, they gave me some money as well. I know you’ve already said it’d be okay, but I would be very grateful if your parents would let me stay with you for a while – I don’t want to be an inconvenience, but it would drastically reduce the cost of the trip.”

“I could go ask now, if you want,” shrugged Ichigo. “But yeah, my dad’ll be cool with it. He’s –”

Yuzu called up the stairs then, asking him to come down for dinner. Since there was no time like the present, Ichigo bid Tōshirō a temporary farewell and hurried downstairs, planning on cornering his father in the living room. Yuzu was still busy with the final parts of dinner, and Karin was setting the table, so Ichigo knew he had enough time. Isshin, as expected, was lounged on the sofa with his feet propped up, but the TV was off and he was instead surrounded by folders and files and important looking documents. He hardly gave his son a second look when he walked in, but not perturbed Ichigo sat down next to him, mindful of the work, and started to talk.

Karin stuck her head around the doorway about five minutes later, caught a few words of their conversation, and then disappeared again to let her sister know that dinner might have to wait. Hungry, Ichigo hoped his father would give him a straight answer, as the elder Kurosaki was frowning down at the notepad in his hand, a thoughtful expression fixed on his face.

“So let me make sure I’ve got this right…” Isshin said eventually, twiddling a biro. He peered at Ichigo over the top of the notepad, and tapped himself on the temple with the end of the pen before continuing, "Your friend in Japan is coming over for two weeks and you’ve invited him round to stay with us. I’ve never heard of him, never met him, _he’s practically a stranger_ , and you think I’m okay with this?”

“Um,” said Ichigo. “Yeah?”

Isshin’s sharp gaze returned to his notes. He stared at them for a moment and then flung the biro at his son’s forehead. “Of course I’m okay with it!” he cheered, tossing the notepad onto the sofa between them. (He’d written nothing, it turned out). “What did you say his name was again? How old is he? You _are_ giving him the guest bedroom, aren’t you?”

Ichigo sighed in relief and slumped back into the cushions. He’d thrown a lot of information at his father at once; he wouldn’t have blamed him if he said Tōshirō couldn’t stay. Isshin was quite the laid-back guy, but it wasn’t everyday he found out his son had an ‘internet-friend’ who he’d known for about two years and wanted him to stay over.

“Tōshirō Hitsugaya. He’s eighteen – nineteen in December. Yes, of course he’ll –” He faulted as he caught the sly look his father was giving him.

Isshin chuckled and whistled innocently when Ichigo glared at him in confusion. “He won’t be staying with you then?”

Ichigo’s mind grounded to a halt. “No!” he blurted, a colossal sense of déjà vu washing over him. “Get your mind out of the gutter, you creepy asshole!”

Isshin laughed wickedly and catapulted up, dragging his son up with him. “Aw come on now Ichigo, I’m only teasing,” he said, leading them into the kitchen. “After dinner go and tell your friend that he’s more than welcome to stay – we’ll sort out one of the spare bedrooms for him. Girls, we’ll be having a guest for a couple of weeks in August. How does that sound?”

Yuzu perked up like a puppy. “When? Who?” she asked, looking delighted. “Are they allergic to anything? Do I need to buy certain foods? Oh, we’ll have to tidy up one of the guest rooms – I think we’ve got some blue sheets somewhere; it is a boy, right?”

Isshin nudged Ichigo as if to say, ‘what were you even worried about?’ He settled down to dinner, leaving his son to answer Yuzu’s questions.

“Yeah, his name’s Tōshirō. No, I don’t think he’s allergic to anything but I’ll ask, and he’s not really that fussy an eater. He likes watermelon though, so we could get some. He’s coming round for the second and third week of August.”

“You’ve never mentioned him before,” mused Yuzu. She put out four plates of chicken curry and Ichigo’s mouth watered at the sight. “Does he go to your school?”

“Ah, no. He actually lives in Japan,” said Ichigo.

Karin’s dark eyes flickered up from her dinner. “He’s the one you talk to all of the time,” she noted, her level tone implying that it wasn’t a question. Yuzu looked surprised, as if she hadn’t quite made that connection, but then her eyes light up and her mouth fell open in understanding.

“Oh!” she cried, smiling wildly. “You sit on the stairs and Skype to him! I didn’t realise he didn’t live in this country though… How did you meet?”

“Internet,” said Ichigo bluntly, stabbing a piece of chicken. “I’ve known him for about two years.”

Yuzu looked impressed. “Well I’ll make him a cake for when he comes over – ask him what flavour he wants.”

Ichigo laughed. He was surprised at how effortlessly his family had accepted Tōshirō’s presence. He _was_ almost eighteen, so perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised at how much trust his father was placing in him – and placing in Tōshirō. For all Isshin knew Tōshirō could be some fifty year old paedophile; he only had Ichigo’s word to go on after all. “He doesn’t actually like cakes and stuff…”

“What?” Yuzu gasped, looking mildly affronted. “How can he _possibly_ not like cake? I need to make him something for when he arrives – what am I going to do?”

“Oh,” Ichigo said unhelpfully, smiling at her. “I’m sure you’ll find something…”

 

break

 

The last of his exams and his birthday passed slowly. In a way Ichigo didn’t mind – they were two huge events in his life; while he hated the stress of his A levels he didn’t want to rush them, and it was his eighteenth birthday so it was certainly a day to remember – but every day was a day closer to seeing Tōshirō, and he wanted that more than anything else. August eventually came around, and he and Tōshirō spoke almost constantly through the first week, finalising plans and discussing ideas of what they could do in the two weeks they were together. But even with this at the forefront of Ichigo’s mind, when he was woken by his phone at seven o’clock Monday morning, it still took him a few moments to comprehend why Tōshirō was messaging him at such a time.

**See you in twelve hours.**

Ichigo bolted out of bed and tripped over his biology folder in his haste to turn a light on. The illumination of his room provided no help in quelling his mood, but it did allow him to navigate around for a decent pair of clothes and realise that his bedroom was an absolute dump. Thus, the eighteen year old ventured into a voluntary cleaning spree for what was likely to be the first time in his life, and this was probably why it took him over an hour to find a home for everything lying about. His father stuck his head into the room just as he was finishing, and the comical widening of his eyes made Ichigo falter where he stood, having been contemplating getting the vacuum. (His room was really that bad).

“Maybe your friend should come over more often,” said Isshin, nodding appreciatively. “Yuzu would be _delighted_.”

Ichigo slammed the door.

He did nothing but kill time for the rest of the day. He’d searched up Tōshirō’s flight number on the Heathrow website so that he’d know when it would arrive, but other than staring hopelessly at Whatsapp occasionally, there was no way of contacting Tōshirō. Yuzu dragged him down to the supermarket just to give him something to do; they went in the car so that Ichigo could practice, despite it being a dismally short drive, since he’d only passed a few months before. He loved that he could drive, but since his school had pulled them off timetable for the day just before he’d started learning and brought in a workshop (complete with fireman, police officers, medics, and a fake car accident simulation), Ichigo would say he was probably the world’s most cautious driver. The dozen or so pictures of horrific car accidents had almost convinced him to cancel his driving lessons. (The firemen had assured the students they hadn’t meant to stop them from driving, just scare them enough to not be stupid on the roads. His year group had been ghosts by the end of the day, so Ichigo didn’t believe them).

They had an extremely early dinner, and eventually it was five o’clock. Ichigo grabbed his phone, his house keys, and his wallet just in case, and once he’d put his shoes on he wandered into the living room. His father was the only one there; the twins were probably upstairs doing some homework. “Hey, I’m gonna go get Tōshirō from the airport,” he said dangling Isshin’s car keys in the air.

Isshin looked up from the TV with an expression Ichigo had come to know as motherly. “You drive safely, okay son?”

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “Yes dad,” he droned, having heard that phrase every time he took the car out. (He could understand, though, which was why it never really irritated him).

His father frowned at him and said earnestly, “It’s a furthest you’ve driven on your own – are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“You’ll just weird Tōshirō out,” Ichigo replied, disappearing briefly to grab his coat. He wasn’t sure on the weather, and it’d likely to late when they returned. “I’ll be careful not the wreck your car, I promise.”

“It’s not the car I care about.”

“ _Dad_.”

Isshin shrugged, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, there’s no stopping you, is there? Just like your mother.” Ichigo winced, unsure how he was supposed to respond to that. His father continued on as if he hadn’t noticed, voice lighter but still laced with concern. “You better go now – you’re going to hit the London rush-hour, so you don’t want to be late.”

Nodding, Ichigo said, “Okay. I’ll call you when I get there.”

His father waved him off and then reverted back to the TV.

Just as expected, Ichigo did hit the legendary traffic on the M25, but for the most part he managed to get away unscathed. Navigating around Heathrow was just as bad, and he did spare a thought that having his father to point the way would have been a good idea, but by then it was far too late for that. He eventually pulled the car to a stop in the short stay car park after getting lost twice, and with a brief concern that he was running late, he checked his phone for the time. Tōshirō’s flight was expected to land at around seven if he remembered correctly, and since it wasn’t quite half past six yet, Ichigo didn’t worry as he made his way over to the terminal. He figured it was best to call his father while he walked.

Heathrow was crowded, even in the arrivals area, and Ichigo had to dart through families and friends to get a close look at the information screen. He’d written Tōshirō’s flight number down on the back of his hand so he didn’t forget – he needn’t worry though, since there was only one flight coming in from Tokyo; ‘expected’ was its status, so he figured he had time to browse WHSmith since it hadn’t landed yet.

When he went back twenty minutes later, the status read ‘landed’ and he had to fight back a nervous laugh at how close they were at finally meeting each other. He’d been waiting for this moment for so long, and Ichigo grinned all the way to the Costa tucked away in the corner, where he decided to buy a couple of coffees. At the very least this gave him something else to think about while Tōshirō experienced the horror of the British passport control, baggage claims, and Customs.

He was so distracted that he almost missed the question from the woman waiting for her order next to him. “Are you here by yourself?” she asked, smiling up at him.

Ichigo had to tear his eyes away from his phone to answer her. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m waiting for someone.”

Obviously, he thought, cringing. He was in the arrivals.

Unperturbed, the woman scanned him briefly, and Ichigo felt himself blushing. “You brave soul,” she said, casting a pitying look at him. “Long-distance relationships must be hard – I don’t know how you manage.” He wasn’t entirely sure how she’d guessed, even if she was only half right. Ichigo wondered if he had a sign stuck to his forehead or something. “She must be worth it?”

“Um, yeah, definitely.” What he was saying? Since when was Tōshirō female _and_ his girlfriend?

The woman turned her smile to the young staff member who handed her drink to her. Ichigo thought he might be free from her interrogation, but she turned back to him – apparently happy to wait for his order to arrive.

“I don’t know how I’d cope if my husband was in a different country, let alone if he lived there. Where’s she flying in from?”

Thankfully his drinks arrived then, so he kept his answer short. “Tokyo.”

She gasped, her pitying expression intensifying. Ichigo knew exactly what she meant – he felt like that every single day.

He wandered back over to the information screen. People all around him were checking their phones and watches, and staring impatiently at the screen, so he knew that the passengers from Tōshirō’s flight were to be appearing any time soon.

Ichigo suddenly wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d never wanted anything more in his life, but what if they rubbed each other the wrong way in real life? What if their meeting was a disaster? What would he do then? Would they never talk to each other again? Would that be it? Years of friendship abandoned in a single moment?

No, you’re being irrational, he reassured himself. You _know_ Tōshirō – he’s going to be exactly the same as always, except solid, doubtlessly shorter, and touchable.

…Dammit! He needed to get his mind out of the gutter.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Get a grip. He’s probably not even interested.”

The last thing he wanted to do was ruin their friendship through confessing his desires.

The noise in the terminal heightened then as dozens of people started to swarm through from Customs. Ichigo’s heart leapt up into his mouth as he scanned the area for a shock of white – where is he, where is he?

There.

Tōshirō looked like a wreck. A beautiful, exotic, delicate wreck, but that wasn't the point. Ichigo probably didn't look much different, dancing on the spot with two Costa cups in his hands, but at least he hadn't been trapped in the noisy, humid confines of a plane for the last twelve hours. Flying from Tokyo to London was an excruciatingly painful journey if the passenger's shattered expressions were anything to go by, so Ichigo hoped the double espresso he'd just bought would be a welcome gift. He'd had a moment of doubt that Tōshirō even  _liked_  coffee, but by then he'd already paid so he figured if his assumption was wrong he'd just drink it himself. The chances that he'd be singing all the way home would be quite high so perhaps he wouldn't drink it - he didn't want to scare Tōshirō off within the first hour of meeting him.  
  
The Japanese eighteen year old had his navy coat hung over one of his arms and his small black suitcase trailing behind him, and he was glancing around sharply as the sea of people desperate to get out of the airport pushed him along without a single concern for the fact that he had no idea where he was going. Ichigo felt an endearing smile creep onto his face, and he attempted to raise a hand to wave, only remembering the double espresso when it teetered dangerously and almost burned his arm.  
  
"Oi, Tōshirō!" he called instead, earning a couple of glares from the people around him. He couldn't care less about them in that moment though, for Tōshirō had heard his shout and had snapped his head up in search of the familiar voice. Ichigo's smile burst apart into an open-mouthed grin, and Tōshirō mirrored the expression when they laid eyes on each other, though in his usual way his complexion was far more controlled than Ichigo's sunny disarray. He weaved his way through the crowd, his suitcase tucked neatly behind him, until the two teenagers were face to face, within reach,  _practically touching_ , their expressions betraying their awed delight at finally seeing each other -  _actually_  seeing each other.  
  
"Here," Ichigo said, stuttering nervously. "I hope you like coffee."  
  
Tōshirō put his suitcase aside and threw his coat over it, gratefully taking the steaming cup with both hands. He looked like he wanted to bow but didn't know if it would be appropriate in a culture so different from his own. "Thank you," he said, but his eyes stayed firmly on Ichigo, still processing what was before him. "I can't believe how long the flight was."  
  
Gaze softening in sympathy, Ichigo replied, "Did you like it? Did you get some sleep?"  
  
"It was okay," said Tōshirō, shrugging slightly. "I didn't get any sleep, no. I pretty much just looked out of the window the whole time - some of the views were spectacular." He glanced down at his coffee for a second, as if admitting aloud how tired he was made him reconsider the advantages of not drinking it right away. He took a hesitant sip, and then another, and whatever he had planned to say next was washed away by the rich, soothing warmth glowing in the back of his mouth.  
  
Ichigo had barely begun on his own coffee before he decided that he should get Tōshirō to bed as soon as possible. His ghostly hair appeared to be drooping, and he was blinking excessively as he fought to keep himself awake. Ichigo took Tōshirō's coat in his free hand and led them out into the evening, keeping the conversation light as they ventured over to the short stay car park to where Ichigo had left his father's car. They finished their drinks, put Tōshirō's suitcase in the boot, and were on their way. It was fortunate that there wasn't much to see around Heathrow, for it had only taken ten minutes for the steady hum of the vehicle to lull Tōshirō to sleep. Once he noticed, Ichigo quietened the radio and chuckled to himself. This was going to be the best week of his life, he could already tell.

Tōshirō slept the whole way home, so when they pulled into the driveway alongside the Kurosaki Clinic, the car headlights blinding against the side of the house, Ichigo carefully shook his friend awake. Grinning at the disorientated groan, Ichigo then went to get the luggage out of the boot while Tōshirō collected his bearings. Isshin had ventured out of the house to greet them, and in a perfectly normal yet hugely uncharacteristic way, the elder man shook hands with their sleepy guest and guided them into the living room. Tōshirō's feet were sluggish but his head was sharp, the movements of a man trying to take in as much as he could but failing quite spectacularly, so they didn't hang around for long. Karin and Yuzu were both upstairs when Ichigo introduced the guest bedroom, yet he was sure any encounter past that of the kitchen would be wiped from Tōshirō's memory in the morning.  
  
"How was the trip?" Isshin asked ten minutes later, lounged in front of the TV. Ichigo collapsed down onto the sofa next to him with a hearty groan, but after a deep breath he seemed to spring right back up as if the pillows had charged him with an electrical current.  
  
"Dull," he admitted lightly, though his radiant smile suggested otherwise. "Tōshirō slept all the way home - he said he didn't get any sleep during the flight so he's probably going to be knackered in the morning. But that's cool, I mean, I didn't have anything planned for tomorrow anyway cause I figured he'd need to recuperate." He shrugged a few times, buzzing with too much energy. "London after that though - there's so many places I want to take him. I can't wait, it's going to be amazing. God, I just can't believe he's here."  
  
Isshin laughed and clamped his son on the shoulder, interrupting the wave of exuberant babbling. "I'm glad he is," he agreed, grinning broadly. "You've been bouncing around the house - "  
  
"I don't  _bounce_. That makes me sound like a girl."  
  
A surprised eyebrow rose and Isshin stuck his bottom lip out, nodding with a stern, amused look. Ichigo blushed and turned to the TV to try and save himself the embarrassment, and realised a moment too late that he'd just proved his father's point when the man next to him exploded with laughter and thumped him on the back again.  
  
"You really like him, don't you?" asked Karin, arms folded across her chest in the doorway.  
  
Yuzu popped her head around the corner and added, "He's cute. And polite.”

"Yeah," nodded Karin, humming approvingly. "You actually have good taste Ichi-nii." She sounded pleasantly surprised, and Ichigo blubbered out a half-hearted denial from the other side of the room. His family didn't seem to buy it though, each of them adopting a frown with varying degrees of disbelief, and together they passed a silent judgement on the mortified member of the household.  
  
"I doubt I’m his type," he tried, and this meek attempt caused both his father and Karin to snort, with Yuzu rolling her eyes in a much more subtle exasperation of his disillusionment between them.  
  
"Oh onii-chan," she cooed, Karin stumbling out of view to try and hide her laughter. "It must be so hard to be a boy."  
  
"What - ?"  
  
Yuzu tutted in a typical teenage-girl way and started to make her way towards the sofa, most likely to offer a lecture for his ignorance, but Isshin beat her to it by pulling out a packet of condoms from  _somewhere_ and throwing it into his son's face, exclaiming loudly that he 'better do something about this soon' as he danced around the room emptying the rest of the condom box like confetti at a wedding.  
  
Luckily their commotion didn't wake Tōshirō. Though if it had, Isshin argued, then the dilemma might have been solved a little bit sooner.

 

break

 

Ichigo was up at five the next morning, much to his body’s dismay. The house was dark when he padded out of his bedroom, trying to hold a yawn behind his hand, but the only light he turned on was the one in the bathroom. The mirror showed a sleep-deprived but unusually alert teenager, yet it wasn’t until he slouched his way past the closed guest bedroom door that Ichigo realised why his brain was dancing around in excitement inside of his head.

He highly doubted that Tōshirō would be awake yet, and Ichigo had to fight back a surge of disappointment. As much as he wanted to get his first week with Tōshirō underway, he knew that jetlag was a horrible thing, and he didn’t want to begin to imagine how tired his friend was. Best to let him sleep, he decided, and he wandered downstairs to make himself some breakfast.

His father got up at six while Ichigo was in the shower, and the twins got up at eight. Ichigo spent the morning lounging around waiting for Tōshirō to wake – by eleven Isshin got fed up with his moping and kicked him out of the house. It didn’t really make a difference to Ichigo, who just maundered around the town for a couple of hours, though he did check his phone almost constantly for any sign of life from their guest. There was nothing, so eventually he wandered into Tesco with the idea of getting himself some lunch, but ended up buying enough ingredients to make a mountain of brownies and hoped Tōshirō would wake up soon to make a mess of the kitchen with him.

“He’s not up yet,” said Yuzu when he dumped the bags onto the table. She was wearing a ghastly flowery pink apron, and for the first time Ichigo was glad Tōshirō was still snoozing. “Do you want a bacon sandwich? I’m making one for Karin.”

“Yes please,” he replied, mouth already drooling at the smell. “I’ll butter some bread.”

She pointed to the loaf on the side and they got to work. Not ten minutes later Tōshirō shuffled into the kitchen, arms folded across a sleeping yukata that he most likely didn’t remember changing into, and eyes far brighter than the night before. He was sniffing at the air when they noticed him, and Ichigo laughed as they served up the sandwiches.

“Oi Karin, your sandwich is ready!” he called into the other room. Then, to Tōshirō, he said, “Trust bacon to get you out of bed. Want one?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” replied Tōshirō, looking around the kitchen nervously. “Um – can I?” He indicated to the table.

“Make yourself at home,” said Yuzu, speaking up since her brother had chosen that moment to take a huge bite out of his lunch. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Yuzu.”

Again Tōshirō looked like he wanted to bow but didn’t know if it’d be appropriate, but she saved him from making a choice by pulling him into a hug.

“Wow Tōshirō,” said Ichigo, peering down at them both. “You’re shorter than my sister!”

He ran his hand along the top of their heads to check. Yuzu whined and swatted him away, and Tōshirō just glared as he slumped down into a seat, still dazed from Yuzu’s hug. It was a playful glare though, and Ichigo grinned back.

“Hi Tōshirō,” said Karin as she wandered in, making a bee-line towards her lunch. “Make sure Ichi-nii behaves, okay?”

Yuzu giggled as she stacked up the frying pan and spatula in the sink. “I’ll try my best,” said Tōshirō, and Karin nodded, satisfied with that. She sat down opposite him on the table and asked,

“So, is there anything planned for your stay?”

“I haven’t made any definite plans, no,” Tōshirō said, glancing over at Ichigo to see if he would confirm that.

“Well, I was gonna take you to London for the rest of this week,” Ichigo explained, taking this as the best opportunity to do so. “Do you want toast or anything? Cereal? I think we’ve got some bagels around here somewhere.”

“I’d appreciate some toast, thank you. What about the second week?”

Ichigo shrugged, plopping two pieces of bread into the toaster and getting out the butter again. He offered various spreads to go with it, but Tōshirō just shook his head. “Haven’t got anything planned for that week. I figured you might want to go do your own thing for a while.”

“You don’t have to,” Yuzu chipped in, coming to sit next to her sister. “You’re more than welcome to stay here. You’ll probably be tired after running around London.”

“We could watch movies and shit,” continued Ichigo, smiling as he buttered the toast. “There’s a Costa down town. Or, we could like, go bowling or something.”

“Or you could go and see some of the historical cities and wonderful landscapes this country has to offer, since that’s probably what you came here for,” Karin droned, and Tōshirō chuckled quietly.

Ichigo pulled a face behind her head, before sliding the plate of toast towards their guest. Karin glared at him when he came into sight, and he laughed, realising that Yuzu wasn’t the only one who saw everything. Tōshirō thanked him for breakfast, looking relieved to have something to busy his hands with.

“I don’t mind either way,” he said. “I could go and find a place to stay if you get sick of me.”

“You’re our guest,” replied Isshin, shuffling into the kitchen dressed in his work attire. Tōshirō made to stand, probably to bow, Ichigo thought, but Isshin clamped him on the shoulder and shook his hand before he could fully make it out of his seat. “Nice to meet you Tōshirō, I’m Isshin. I’m sure you’ve heard all about me.” His smile coaxed Tōshirō to sit back down and return to his breakfast.

“Don’t forget he’s a lunatic,” Ichigo warned sternly, watching his father invade the fridge for lunch. “Feel free to walk away if he starts crying or something.”

“Your words wound me, my son,” whined Isshin. He hesitated for a moment and then threw a packet of ham across the room. It sailed over Yuzu’s head, brushed past Karin, and would have hit Ichigo in the face if he hadn’t shot out a hand and caught it. As such, Tōshirō was the only one at the table who ducked.

“ _Dad_ , we’ve got a guest,” cried Yuzu. Isshin had the heart to look guilty – at least, until he had to jump out of the way when Ichigo hurled the ham back at him.

“They’re always like this,” Karin said to Tōshirō, whose eyes had widened at the behaviour. “So don’t worry about it. I’d eat your toast before you lose it though. They tend to use whatever’s in reach.”

Tōshirō obediently picked up the last of his toast, nibbling the end to state his ownership. Just as he was about to query Karin about her family’s dramatic antics, Ichigo’s hand snatched up his plate, scattering the bread crumbs across the table. He startled, but Ichigo just grinned and said, “Excuse me,” and threw the plate at his father in a violent over-arm throw.

Yuzu screamed as her favourite piece of china flew across the room. Isshin caught it between the palms of his hands just before it broke his nose, and both of the Kurosaki males roared – one in dismay and the other in triumph. Karin patted their stunned guest on the shoulder as she made her way over to the sink, and fixed him with a sympathetic look. “Welcome to the family.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Tōshirō, sending her a helpless look. The three other occupants of the kitchen now seemed to be playing piggy in the middle with Yuzu’s best cutlery, and perhaps because her sister appeared to be one step away from tearing her father and brother apart, Karin turned back to Tōshirō and said,

“Do you want me to show you how the shower works? Sometimes you have to punch it.”

“I’d be grateful,” replied Tōshirō, ducking under a misfired fork. (“You almost hit Tōshirō you moron!” “ _I_ almost hit him? You’re the one who threw it! It’s not my fault it bounced off of the chopping board!”)

She led him upstairs.

“Oh now look what you’ve done!” cried Yuzu a minute later. She ripped the chopping board from her father and jabbed it like a dagger at Ichigo, eyes narrowed. Ichigo put up his hands in defence, scowling as Isshin stuck out his tongue over Yuzu’s head. “You’ve made Tōshirō feel uncomfortable!”

“Huh?” Ichigo said. He glanced around, realising with surprise that Tōshirō wasn’t even in the kitchen anymore. “Oh… woops.”

“Woops?!” snapped Yuzu, crossing her arms over her chest. Ichigo flinched back, openly terrified of her wrath, and felt his ears burning in embarrassment. “Go and apologise to him right now!”

“He’s in the shower,” Karin informed from the doorway, sighing. “Nicely done, dipwits.”

“Ah don’t worry about it,” laughed Isshin, trying to lighten the mood. “He’s going to have to be used to it if he starts dating –”

Ichigo cut across him with a fierce scowl. “Dad,” he said gravely. “Now isn’t the time.”

Isshin rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“He’s in the shower, yeah?” Ichigo went on. Karin nodded. He figured that would only take ten minutes tops – he couldn’t imagine that Tōshirō was the type to spend forever and a day in the bathroom – so as his family set about returning the kitchen to a more presentable state, Ichigo decided to make some tea as a way of apologising. Tea made everything better after all.

Hot, thick steam was rolling out of the bathroom when he carried the mugs upstairs, so Ichigo made his way over to the guest bedroom instead. He knocked on the door with his foot, and called, “Hey Tōsh, you decent?”

The door clicked open to reveal a pair of black glasses skewed under a tangle of dense, water-logged hair, and Ichigo blinked, mouth falling open of its own accord. Tōshirō’s teal eyes were sharp and confused, his red lips cracked and dehydrated, and his light skin was now an unnatural rosy flush, but Ichigo was suddenly struck by how _attractive_ he was. He was a post-shower mess, there was no doubt about that, but Ichigo had to abstain himself from licking his lips at the thought of just _how good_ Tōshirō would look the moment he rolled out of bed.

“Oh great, another nickname,” Tōshirō sighed, oblivious to Ichigo’s fantasies.

“Um, sorry,” he spluttered, willing the burn of the hot cups of tea to distract him from his thoughts. “I couldn’t be bothered to say the last two syllables.”

He held out one of the mugs. Tōshirō took it gratefully, stared at it for a moment, and then lifted his eyes and looked up with an expression that Ichigo could find no other word to describe as but ‘teasingly’. “Ich,” Tōshirō returned, rolling the sound about on his tongue. His lips moved gently around the name, and Ichigo gulped.

“That sounds stupid,” he joked.

“We’ll just have to stick with _baka_ then,” said Tōshirō flatly, but Ichigo caught the gleam in his eyes as he turned around and walked back into his temporary bedroom. He only just noticed it, however, for his attention had been swiftly drawn to the movement of Tōshirō’s backside in the fitted black jeans he was wearing. Tōshirō wasn’t making any obviously suggestive motions, but Ichigo found himself staring nonetheless as he followed him inside.

 _If this isn’t flirting_ , he thought, taking a sip of his drink to stop himself from saying something senseless, _I’ll never have tea again_.

“When are we going to London?” Tōshirō asked, rummaging around his suitcase.

Ichigo went and sat on the bed, marvelling at how it didn’t look like it’d even been slept in. Yuzu would _kill_ for him to have such neatness. “Oh? Err,” he muttered, trying to hide the fact that he’d still been staring at Tōshirō’s sexual appeal. “This afternoon at the some point – gotta check in by seven, I think. Then we can go find a place to have dinner or something.”

Tōshirō nodded and stood, apparently having found what he was looking for. Ichigo watched curiously as two packages were presented to him – one was big and flat, and the other looked like a box of chocolates. He put his tea aside and took the small one first, voicing a question as to their contents.

“Ah, _kore douzo_ , this is for you. Think of it as a late birthday present,” said Tōshirō. Ichigo reckoned he was constantly sipping his drink to offer an alternative explanation as to the redness of his cheeks. “I hope you like them.”

The first was a box of sweets, but chocolate it was not. For a moment Ichigo had no idea what they were until he read Tōshirō’s miniscule handwriting: 甘納豆 - _amanattō_. The second was even better, though Tōshirō looked disappointed for some reason.

“It’s a sleeping yukata,” he explained, as Ichigo unfolded it out between them. It was a rich, royal blue, but darker, with the collar and sleeve lining a simple black. “I wanted to get you a kimono, but I wasn’t sure you’d wear it.”

Ichigo nodded absentmindedly, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. It clearly wasn’t kimono standard, but it felt expensive either way. “I’d be scared of ruining it,” he admitted, understanding. “This is much more practical. Thank you. How much did you spend?”

Tōshirō shrugged. “Nothing compared to what you’re probably going to be spending in the next two weeks.”

Ichigo laughed.

 

break

 

The twenty minutes before they were set to leave had Isshin showing the most motherliness Ichigo had ever seen:

“Do you have money?”

“Yes dad.”

“Phone charger? Keys? Phone? You have your phone right?”

“Yes dad.”

“Clothes? Toothbrush? _Underwear_?”

“ _Yes dad_. I’m not completely useless.”

“Do you know where you’re going? Do you have your travel cards?”

“ _Yes dad_. Are you done? We’re going to miss the train at this rate.”

Isshin pouted dramatically, folding his arms across his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, Ichigo saw Tōshirō turn away to hide a smirk. “I worry about you, son,” said his father, shaking his head in an exaggerated movement. “But if you’d rather just step out into the big wide world without any preparation or safety gear –”

“Sounds about right,” Ichigo cut in, grabbing his suitcase and opening the front door. “Come on Tōshirō, let’s go.”

“He just worries about you,” whispered Tōshirō once they were halfway down the street, Isshin shouting heartfelt goodbyes behind them.

Ichigo rolled his eyes, but he was smiling with a subtle fondness. “Yeah I know. Can’t let it go to his head though. And anyway, I’m going to be moving out next month – dunno what he’s going to do then.”

“Panic?” Tōshirō suggested lightly.

“Probably.”

The train station wasn’t actually far, so they wouldn’t have missed the train even if Isshin had kept them for a few minutes longer. It took roughly an hour to get into Central London, and from there they hopped between a few underground trains until they arrived at the Premier Inn Ichigo had booked them into. Tōshirō appeared quite impressed with the underground system, despite Ichigo’s warning that it wasn’t anything like the Japanese railway and that delays were commonplace on every line. Ichigo mused that that could be why; Tōshirō had set his expectations extremely low and thus it was difficult to be disappointed. He wisely hadn’t mentioned anything about the lack of sanitation on the trains, but by the look on Tōshirō’s face a few minutes into their journey, he’d worked that much out for himself.

“It’s very purple,” Tōshirō noted once they’d walked into the Premier Inn, their suitcases seemingly ten times heavier now as they dragged them along behind.

“You’ll get used to it,” said Ichigo, walking up to the desk. “Wait till you see the room. Booking under ‘Kurosaki’?” he prompted to the young woman wearing a lilac shirt that matched almost every other inch of the room. “K-U-R –”

“Ah yes,” said the receptionist, handing over a key and a pen with a smile. “One room for five nights? If you could just sign here –”

Their room was on the second floor, and lugging their suitcases up the stairs was challenging. The hallway wasn’t quite wide enough for them to walk side by side with their luggage, but Ichigo had tripped twice up the stairs so he was lagging behind anyhow. Tōshirō, as efficient as ever, found their room with ease – it was at the end of the corridor by the large window, and from their height they could see some of the iconic buildings of London. Ichigo promised that they’d see most of them soon enough.

“Oh, I see what you mean,” said Tōshirō, carefully eyeing the purple furniture, purple paintings, and purple bathroom of the room they walked into. “It’s pleasant though.”

“Premier Inns are always good,” said Ichigo, visibly relieved to finally be able to take his shoes off. “Pick a bed, then we can unpack or something. Not sure I fancy living out of my suitcase for a week…”

Tōshirō went and sat on the bed nearest the window, and Ichigo laughed when his feet didn’t reach the floor. The ginger reached around for his phone, and once Tōshirō realised that he was preparing to take a picture he aimed a heated glare across the room.

“Don’t.”

Ichigo barked a laugh. “Ah come on Tōshirō…”

Tōshirō folded his arms, radiating a cold disapproval. Biting his lip, Ichigo put his phone down in defeat. He’d get a picture at some point.

They lounged around for an hour or so, tired after their journey. The TV had all of the basic channels but nothing special, but Ichigo had thought ahead and brought along a DVD player in case they got desperate for something decent to watch. Ten minutes into an episode of Supernatural, Tōshirō appeared inquisitively behind him, the yelling and screaming of the minor characters drawing him across the room. Since it wasn’t _that_ gory a programme (remembering that horror wasn’t really Tōshirō’s ‘thing’), Ichigo shuffled over so that they could both see the small screen, and they watched a couple of episodes together until one of their stomachs was growling loud enough to cut across the gunshots and screeching car tires.

“We could just go to the place across the road?” Ichigo suggested, wracking his brain for a good place to eat. “But the O2’s not far I guess, and that’s got loads of restaurants.”

“Is that the white dome?”

Ichigo nodded. “Looks like a hedgehog,” he clarified, expression mirroring Tōshirō’s understanding look. “They do shows and stuff there, but you don’t need tickets for those to get into the restaurants.”

They agreed that it was a good idea, and set off towards the station. The O2 dome was a magnificent sight, especially at night. The tall spires were glowing a faint orange, and the white roof was illuminated from the blue and purple lights of the path and buildings beneath it. It was situated on the Thames so they went for a quick walk along the river around the edge of the taunt, canvas-like building before venturing inside with the mass of tourists laughing and chatting around them.

Tōshirō admitted that he didn’t recognise many of the restaurant chains, but Ichigo was happy enough to elaborate – he, too, hadn’t been into every restaurant before, and a couple of them he’d never heard of himself. Still, they wandered up and down Entertainment Avenue a few times, and eventually compromised for one of the less lavish seeming options.

Twenty minutes into their meal, Ichigo was _convinced_ their waiter thought they were a couple. Being pleasant was part of the service, but he was ninety-nine per cent sure the gleeful, lopsided grin wasn’t on the job description. She served other tables around them as well, but it was only at theirs that she practically sang everything – now either she was fangirling over them, or she was trying to flirt. Ichigo didn’t consider himself to be a master of the methods of flirtation, but he knew that squealing every time a pair of guys so much as looked at each other wasn’t going to get her very far.

As observant as he was, Tōshirō was apparently oblivious. He wasn’t great with people, so Ichigo wasn’t surprised. However in their current situation, Ichigo wished that his friend was just a smidgen more perceptive to the wants and needs of those around him. Romantic wants and needs. Ichigo’s romantic wants and needs. It wasn’t absolutely a bad thing though – Tōshirō’s stark unawareness allowed Ichigo to lose himself in just _watching_ , and watch he did. He liked the way Tōshirō’s expression could shift from one end of the spectrum to the other in a second – confusion to bother, introversion to delight. He picked up on little unconscious mannerisms – an eye roll, a nervous glance to the side; his personal favourite was the way Tōshirō folded his arms and stuffed his hands up his sleeves. Ichigo couldn’t say he was certain what it meant yet, but working it out was half the fun.

The downside to this was that the longer he paid apt attention, the more he grasped that Tōshirō wasn’t interested. For the most part, there were no signs in his behaviour to indicate that he returned Ichigo’s feelings. It was possible that he was just being incredibly subtle about it, and this thought did occur to Ichigo when they laughed and joked together – even the blind would be able to see how happy Tōshirō looked. But ultimately, no matter how encouraging his family and their chirpy waiter were, Ichigo found himself confused.

He didn’t want to say anything that could potentially ruin their friendship without doing careful research first, so he kept his mouth shut.

“ _Gochisōsama deshita_ ,” said Tōshirō, placing his cutlery down. (He was astonishingly careful when he ate – Ichigo felt like a pig half the time). “I think I ate too much.”

Ichigo was thinking the same thing, and he’d left some of his chips untouched. “You didn’t have to eat it all.”

“It’s polite,” Tōshirō explained, looking uncomfortably bloated but pleased with his empty plate and glass.

“God, if I’d known you’d feel compelled to eat every last scrap, I wouldn’t have taken you to an American restaurant,” Ichigo joked. “Our portions aren’t usually this massive, I swear.”

He thought Tōshirō looked mildly relieved, even if he tried not to show it.

They split the bill, though Ichigo added a small tip (which he then learned wasn’t customary in Japan, much to his surprise). Their waiter wouldn’t stop smiling as she cleared away their plates, but Ichigo didn’t have the heart to tell her that they weren’t actually boyfriends. He didn’t want to rain on her parade. When they left it was even darker than before, but the colossal lights of the O2 guided them back to the station. It had evidently rained at some point during their dinner, for the ground was depressingly damp and Ichigo swore the puddles were purposely getting in his way. He hoped the weather would clear up for the rest of the week, but when the rain started coming down again on the train journey back, he realised that praying for England to have lovely weather was just a lost cause as what dating Tōshirō was going to be.

He tried not to let it bother him though. He’d lived with gloomy England for long enough – he could survive with an unreciprocated romance.

 

break

 

This mind-set lasted him until the next morning. Ichigo thought that wasn’t too bad, considering.

He woke slowly around eight, the unfamiliar environment disconcerting him for a few moments. But the bed was warm, the duvet perfect, and the room was light and still, so Ichigo let himself breathe deeply into the pillow before blinking around. Across the room lay Tōshirō, basking in the sunlight streaming in through the flimsy blinds. Ichigo had always considered Tōshirō to be quite a neat sleeper – a small, unmoving position while sleeping would reflect his personality after all – but apparently, if drowsy enough after eating far too much for dinner, Tōshirō was perfectly capable of sprawling out on his stomach. Ichigo took a moment to smirk. If someone had come in and glanced between their two beds just ten minutes before, they would have realised that the two teenagers were sleeping in frightening similar positions, as if a mirror had been placed in the middle of the room.

If their lives had been a cheesy romance novel, Ichigo thought, then that might have meant something. Maybe they were subconsciously compatible too.

He rolled his eyes to himself and padded about the room with the idea of having a shower. Instead, he ended up just watching Tōshirō sleep for an unknown amount of time, trying to engrave the picture of his friend’s vulnerable openness in his mind forever.

(Just an instant later he’d remember that he had a faultlessly functioning camera on his mobile.

“Sorry Tōsh,” he mumbled, snapping a few shots and feeling absolutely no guilt. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, after all).

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Tōshirō asked once he was up and about, smoothing down his hair uselessly.

“No reason,” replied Ichigo, discretely patting the phone in his pocket. He tried to wipe the sly grin off of his face, but if the confused eyebrow wiggle was anything to go by, he didn’t do a good job at it. Tōshirō didn’t appear to want to question the expression any further though, so the exchange was promptly forgotten in favour of grabbing some breakfast from the restaurant across the street.

After two cups of tea and a healthy (in size only) English fry-up, Ichigo felt much more prepared to face the chaotic bustle of London. He knew it was going to be a long week for them, so they planned accordingly to try and fit everything they wanted to do in without running themselves ragged.

They spent that day wandering around the Science Museum just in case it started to rain again, and rain it did. Since it was open for most of the day and free of charge, the weather thankfully didn’t really bother them. The rest of the week promised clearer skies, so they succeeded in seeing the sights (Big Ben, the Tower of London, and the National Gallery being a few – Ichigo had never been to the latter, so it was an eye-opener for him as well), returning back to the hotel when they were thoroughly spent and/or hungry enough that they didn’t care what they were eating.

Their most memorable experience was probably getting lost on the underground (courtesy of Ichigo accidentally getting on a train by himself, which was amazing in his eyes since they’d been practically joined at the hip over the last few days). They’d laughed about it afterwards, but the sheer blind _panic_ Ichigo had felt when he’d realised what had happened had only amplified when he’d caught another train back only to find that Tōshirō _wasn’t at the station_. (Apparently they’d both forgotten about Whatsapp and thought they could find each other by themselves – evidentially this hadn’t worked as well as they’d hoped). Somehow they’d ended up six stops down a different line when they located each other; Ichigo had all but kissed Tōshirō out of uninhibited relief, and it wasn’t until they were back on the Central line that he registered the inquisitive look Tōshirō’s jade eyes were sending him.

“You alright?” he asked, frowning in concern.

Tōshirō almost startled, or if he did, he hid it well. “Yes, my apologies,” he said, indiscreetly diverting his gaze somewhere else. “I was just lost in my thoughts for a moment.” A young woman further up the carriage peered at him over her kindle, and Ichigo pushed down a horrid, green-eyed thought.

He wasn’t a jealous person by nature, though even he had to admit it burned inside of him from time to time. He wished it wouldn’t – it was an ugly, unnecessary emotion, and he’d much rather be without it. It served no purpose other than making him feeling an idiot, especially when it came to Tōshirō. He still didn’t know the full story of Kusaka, and he doubted he ever would, but he’d been clued into the causes of the (inevitable, now that he had more knowledge about it) breakup. Kusaka hadn’t been a bad person, and he hadn’t been trying to hurt Tōshirō (Ichigo wouldn’t have taken kindly to being told that he had – if there was one part of Ichigo’s personality that made him well known, it was that he was fiercely protective over his friends and family) but his pushy, self-absorbed nature had eventually worn Tōshirō down. Ichigo vowed that he’d never be like that. Tōshirō’s intellect and ambitions weren’t to be controlled, so the eighteen year old knew envious behaviour wouldn’t be welcomed.

Ichigo shrugged, pretending it didn’t bother him. He lay in bed thinking about it that night, watching his friend with a close eye (and feeling somewhat like a hypocrite). Tōshirō slept soundly across the room, his iPod laying on the duvet and headphones tangled over his shoulder, one of the buds still in his ear. Soft music was dancing around the room, and Ichigo spent twenty minutes trying to work out what song the device was repeating to try and distract himself.

Eventually he worked it out – Snow Patrol was apparently Tōshirō’s guilty pleasure – and the little screen blinded him when he shuffled over for a confirmation. Only then did he turn it off and carefully detach it from Tōshirō. He placed it on the bedside table and crawled back into his own bed, fighting back a wary smile at his domesticity.

He was so fucked.

 

break

 

They were on the Piccadilly line when Ichigo grasped just how fucked he was.

They’d gone shopping, of all things, since Tōshirō’s parents had insisted he bring them back a London souvenir or something else just as cheesy. What started out as simply browsing small trinkets and other useless items turned into an ‘I-heart-London’ mayhem once Ichigo had found a gigantic, squishy Union Flag top hat and plonked it onto Tōshirō’s head. Tōshirō had looked _absolutely ridiculous_ , and so, not one to back down from a challenge, Ichigo had initiated their afternoon activity of trying to outdo each other on the ‘how much London merchandise can I wear before I look obsessed’ scale.

Ichigo had taken at least three dozen pictures from the experience, their appearances in each one growing progressively worse, and Tōshirō had gained some gifts for his parents and a large navy blue hoodie with the London Underground symbol on the front, the words ‘MIND THE GAP’ in the middle. He was wearing it when Ichigo’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and, amazed that he was even getting a signal, Ichigo answered the call from his father.

“Yeah dad?” he asked, the tube jerking as it left the station.

“Ichigo, son!” Isshin shouted happily. “How are you?”

“Alright,” said Ichigo, mouthing ‘dad’ to Tōshirō’s curious look. “We’re on the underground at the moment, so the call might cut off. Do you want me to ring back later?”

“No, no. I was just checking to see how you were. You’re coming back Sunday aren’t you? Been up to much?”

Ichigo started to chatter on about all of the places they’d seen and the things they’d done. He kept it brief, since there’d be plenty of time to go into detail once they were back home, but Isshin didn’t seem to mind. Three stops down the line, his father asked if he could speak to Tōshirō for a moment. Ichigo shrugged and waved the phone under his friend’s nose; Tōshirō blinked but reached for it, and the train lurched again. They knocked into each other, all elbows and shoulders, and Ichigo laughed.

His amusement plunged into regret when Tōshirō hastily untangled himself and mumbled an apology, snatching the phone and burying himself under his hoodie. Confused, Ichigo didn’t say a word. Had he missed something? Was Tōshirō embarrassed? The short Japanese tourist was visibly trying to look everywhere but the teen beside him, and Ichigo scowled.

_What had just happened?_

The conversation with Isshin was short, so by the time he got his phone back all Ichigo could think of to say was an apology, though his voice rose at the end in question. Tōshirō’s lips were pressed together tightly, a tell-tale sign that he was uncomfortable with something. For the life of him, Ichigo couldn’t figure out exactly what was wrong, so he went for the forward approach and asked directly:

“Are you alright?”

The drone of the station announcement filled the carriage, and then suddenly there was a _whoosh_ as the doors opened and people filtered in and out. Tōshirō’s teal eyes flickered upwards, blinking once, and then twice – three, four times – before he shoved his hands up the opposite sleeves like Ichigo had seen him do many times before. He wetted his lips. Clicked his teeth together a few times.

The train started up again.

“I… don’t,” he said. A group of girls further down the carriage laughed, the tight, nasal sound ringing in Ichigo’s ears. “I can’t.”

“Oh,” said Ichigo, not really understanding.

They got off at the next stop.

When they got back to the hotel Ichigo decided he might as well go and see if the shower had any advice to give, so he left Tōshirō staring aimlessly at the blank TV and locked himself in the bathroom. He unfolded one of the clean towels and hung it by the door, and turned on the shower to let the water warm. Stripping, he then bundled his clothes up and used the toilet, rolling his eyes when he noticed the mirror above the sink had fogged up. The methodical routine helped calm him, so he let himself draw smiley faces and write words into the condensation – he had to stop himself from drawing a heart like a girl, but he did spell out his name in both English and Japanese, doing the same for Tōshirō’s.

He rubbed them off straight afterwards, the warm bubble of sentiment bursting to make way for foolish heartache.

Ichigo would look back at that moment sometime later and realise just how blind he’d been, but at the current time he’d been preoccupied by slipping over the bath mat and almost crashing into the tub. He still hit the floor painfully hard, but the new position on his back let him view the room from a different angle, and his breath caught from more than just the sting. He saw a pot containing two toothbrushes, a bottle of mouthwash he’d never bought, a box of contact lenses and a glasses’ case that wasn’t his own, and a frantic smudging on the mirror, as if someone had hidden what they’d been trying to say –

Forsaking the need to dress appropriately and only remembering to turn off the shower at the last possible second, Ichigo grabbed a towel and bolted out of the bathroom. Tōshirō was lying on his back, headphones plugged in and music loud enough that Ichigo could hear it over the rush of blood in his ears, so he didn’t immediately react to the other’s dishevelled form. Ichigo clambered over and pulled out one of the earphones, and then Tōshirō jumped, pushing himself up and back slightly when he took in the almost naked young man hovering over him.

“What –?”

“Tōshirō, Tōshirō,” Ichigo gasped madly, realising with dismay that he didn’t know what to say beyond that. Towel in one hand and earphone in the other, he stood there like a fish out of water, cursing his impulsive behaviour. Tōshirō regarded him carefully, expression frightfully similar to that on the train, and it was that that spurred Ichigo on, forcing his head and heart to follow through with the epiphany that had overcome him.

“Dinner,” he blurted. “With me. Tonight.”

If Ichigo had managed to get into the shower, his hair would be dripping down onto Tōshirō’s nose due to how close they were. He wondered if he looked like a caveman, half naked and half mad.

“We always have dinner together,” came the hesitant, slow reply.

Ichigo tried again, the urge to laugh manically clawing its way up his throat. “Dinner – a date. A proper date – if you want to.”

Tōshirō’s lips parted, his mouth opening to no doubt repeat what he’d said on the tube. Ichigo cut across him, smiling brightly to convey reassurance. “You _can_ , it’s alright – it’ll be alright. It’s just us. It’s just – just me. Yeah?”

Looking more stunned than persuaded, Tōshirō said flatly, “I think you need to cool your head in the shower.”

 _Green tea_ , Ichigo thought. _Green tea and mountain trekking and reading and Snow Patrol and sarcasm and hard work –_

“Gonna need a lot of boxes of hair dye to do that,” he chuckled. Tōshirō’s face dropped at the joke, but not sadly, or irritably, but in his usual ‘please tell me youdidn’t’ way that made Ichigo grin. “How does TGI Friday’s sound?”

Tōshirō didn’t seem to know whether to yell at him or laugh. He guardedly tugged his earphone out of Ichigo’s grasp, stopped the music, and then turned off the iPod. Ichigo could hazard a guess as to what was running through his head; self-doubt, confusion, thoughts of Kusaka, thoughts of his family, thoughts of how far apart they lived. Ichigo understood, and he tried to show that in his expression. He had thoughts like that too. But he didn’t let them scare him off – he _wanted_ to try with Tōshirō. Just try. Not commit, or obsess, or control. Try.

“You want… to date me,” Tōshirō began, stating it as a fact but still posing it as a question.

Ichigo continued to smile, hoping the honest declaration would be enough of an answer. Tōshirō was awfully silent for a minute, but Ichigo could _hear_ his brain whirring; see it revolving behind his dark, wide eyes. When the silence ticked on for a second too long, Ichigo had a sudden sense of doubt, that he’d grasped the wrong end of the stick and read all of the signs drastically wrong.  But then Tōshirō attempted to sit up a little straighter; hold his head a little higher; Ichigo felt hope rise up with his chin.

Tōshirō smiled and huffed out a laugh, considering him with a warm, fond expression that Ichigo had come to love. “You’re… you’re _unbelievable_. Absolutely unbelievable.”

How many times had he heard _that_ come out of Tōshirō’s mouth?

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he asked.

Tōshirō levelled him with a stern glare, but the swift kick to his leg was playful and light. “Go and shower you moron. Shoo.”

Ichigo’s heart _skipped_ back into the bathroom (though luckily the same couldn’t be said about his feet). The shower was colder and quicker than it probably should have been, but it was worth it when he returned (this time wearing something more than a towel) to see Tōshirō with his headphones back in, mouthing along to the song with a smile still fixed to his face. He wanted to go over and hold him, hug him, or kiss him, but Ichigo restrained himself and flopped onto his own bed with the DVD player. Just because he’d gotten past the first of Tōshirō’s many barriers didn’t mean he could celebrate just yet. He would act as normal as possible and wait; there was no need to jump the gun.

He’d gotten through two episodes of Doctor Who before Tōshirō took the next step for him, sliding onto the bed and tucking himself right up close so that they could both see the DVD player. Ichigo moved his arm to give him room but then didn’t know what to do with it, so he tried laying it across the headboard. It was uncomfortable and apparently Tōshirō noticed without looking, for he rolled his eyes and said:

“You don’t have to treat me like a piece of glass.”

“I’m not,” said Ichigo, or he hadn’t intended to. “I’m just respecting your boundaries.” He cringed at the cheesy line, but didn’t retract it since it conveyed exactly what he was trying to say.

“Well,” replied Tōshirō, still not looking at him. On the screen the opening credits began, the iconic theme tune blasting out into their hotel room. “I trust you not to do anything stupid.”

Raising an eyebrow, Ichigo slowly lowered his arm so that it rested on Tōshirō’s shoulder, questioning what he meant by ‘stupid’.

“I’d rather you not get too affectionate in public, to begin with,” said the other, and Ichigo, feeling like he might as well get comfy if they were going to lay down the base rules, shifted further back into the pillows. “And don’t do anything you’re not happy with.”

The pause after that was long enough to get through one of the Doctor’s philosophical, crazy monologues.

“That’s it?” Ichigo asked.

Tōshirō glanced up at him carefully. “That’s it. Unless you have anything to add…?”

“No,” he replied lightly, half-shrugging. He could live with those rules, though the lack of – well – _control_ on Tōshirō’s part surprised him. Perhaps he’d underestimated the resilience of his friend. “I’ll admit I was expecting more.”

The white haired young man just shrugged back, his expression unreadable. “I know.”

Ichigo couldn’t help but think he’d made a few errors in judgement somewhere along the line. “So if I were happy to kiss you…?” he said, the hand across Tōshirō’s shoulder beginning to rub circles into it. “What would you do?”

The answer to that was ‘blush’, he discovered half a minute later, grinning at the blood rushing up to rosy Tōshirō’s cheeks. Since he quite liked that response he ducked down again, brushing his lips against the other’s forehead, and then against the small nose that was tilted up to meet him. The Doctor’s current companion made a noise of surprise, but Ichigo silenced her when the DVD player took a tumble, Tōshirō’s hand replacing its previous place in his lap. Ichigo couldn’t help but jolt encouragingly, so he pulled away just in case their kisses took a detour down south.

“I’m going to shower,” mumbled Tōshirō, smiling with a shy flicker in his eyes. He was rubbing his thumb into Ichigo’s thigh, but he didn’t seem to notice. “And then I think there’s a restaurant calling my name.”

 _I think there’s a bed and a bottle of lube calling mine_ , Ichigo thought. “Good idea,” he said aloud.

 He didn’t know which statement he was agreeing to.

 

**End of Part III**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I've just written 12k of nothing. I haven't, have I? D:
> 
> INDEX OF JAPANESE.
> 
> Baka – fool  
> Kore douzo – this is for you (when giving a gift – informal)  
> Gochisōsama deshita – a polite phrase to say after eating (if you’re a guest)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the final part. This chapter is explicit - I tried to make the scenes more realistic and less like smutty porn, so I do hope it's not terrible… *fingers crossed*

 

 

 

**Part IV: Soar**

Dinner went well that night. In all honesty, it hadn't been substantially different from their other ventures into restaurants that week. Their smiles had been brighter than usual (and a tad shy) but they'd made small talk with ease. Ichigo had been worried for a moment that stepping up their relationship might change everything, but they laughed and joked and ate too much as if they were still friends – which they were, he realised. Just more.

As requested they didn't partake in any public displays of affection while out, or at least, not any blatantly obvious ones. At dinner this wasn't a problem, sitting opposite each other and neither feeling cheesy enough to hold hands across the table ( _do people even do that_ , Ichigo wondered, _or was it a movie thing?_ ) yet Ichigo did make a daring little move while they were waiting for the next train and held out his hand.

"I'm too short for this," mumbled Tōshirō, reaching up to the offer nevertheless. They linked their fingers together fairly hesitantly, and Ichigo grinned at the feel of Tōshirō's smooth, cold hand against his.

"Too short for roller-coasters," he corrected.

"Too short to drive," Tōshirō added miserably.

Ichigo almost did a double-take. "Seriously?"

Teal eyes rolled. "A normal car anyway. I assume I'd have to get a specially manufactured seat –"

"What, like a _booster seat_?" Ichigo laughed at Tōshirō's withering look. He didn't stop until the train pulled in, too caught up on the image of his boyfriend strapped into a children's booster seat in the front of a car. Tōshirō sighed, but he sounded drolly exasperated more than offended.

Per their routine Ichigo made tea once they got back, Tōshirō flicking through the TV channels to see if there was anything they could watch. "Just put a quiz show on or something," said the ginger, handing over a mug. "I've seen the news too many times this week."

Tōshirō smirked over his drink. "Did you know it changes every day?"

"Oh haha," Ichigo grumbled, sitting down on the bed next to him. "Your wit astounds me, how ever will I cope?" he added sarcastically.

"I'm sure you'll cope perfectly fine – you've put up with me for this long."

Despite being aware of the derogatory statement in that sentence, Ichigo chose not to bring it up. Instead, he leaned a little closer, smiling. "I'll put up with you if you put up with me?"

"You're easy," Tōshirō replied, and Ichigo faked a wounded, scandalised look. "To _deal with_ ," Tōshirō added hastily. "You're easy to _deal with_. Don't put words into my – _no_."

Ichigo laughed loudly, satisfied with the glare he was receiving. He had to put his mug down so that he wouldn't risk spilling it in his glee. It was so easy to rile Tōshirō up, and he pulled the most adorable faces when he was irritated.

"For god's sake," huffed the white haired man. "You're so mature."

"Very mature," Ichigo countered, carefully prying the tea from his boyfriend and moving it out of reach. Tōshirō let it go with a look of confusion, eyes trailing after it longingly. Ichigo leaned down and kissed the sorrowful expression off of his face, his mouth firming placing a contented replacement smile on Tōshirō's pale features instead. He pressed forward, half turning into his partner's lap, warming up the smaller man's skin with his gentle kisses.

"I don't even feel bad doing this," Ichigo breathed, beginning to roll and unroll the end of Tōshirō's shirt around his fingers.

"I certainly hope you don't," Tōshirō replied, voice light with the smile he pressed into the other's shoulder.

Ichigo chuckled and continued fiddling with the shirt, gazing down at the trace of pale skin he'd uncovered to appreciate, smooth and delicate. He just wanted to touch it; draw whimsical little patterns into it with his fingertips, like what Tōshirō was doing to the back of his neck; shy, subtle touches that didn't mean anything but could be interpreted to mean so much more. "I can't imagine we'd get very far if I did," he said lazily, having already half-forgotten what they were talking about, his mind softening under the rhythm of Tōshirō's gentle ingeniousness.

"Optimistic," was the hum in reply.

"Realistic," Ichigo chuckled, and he started to rub a circle into the underside of Tōshirō's wrist, marvelling at how easily he could fit his fingers around it. He supposed he'd always known that Tōshirō was skinny, but seeing him through a webcam and actually holding his slender body were two completely different experiences altogether. Against the narrow, almost fragile frame he felt tubby and large, yet simultaneously the compulsion to lock the smaller male in the kitchen until he'd gained a stone or two was over-whelming, a motherly urge just as fierce as his desire to listen, comfort, and love. He pressed a hesitant kiss to Tōshirō's hand, his dazed blush making him glad that their heads were curled away against each other's bodies.

Tōshirō huffed, and Ichigo could feel the mirth in the breath cooling down the side of his neck. "Am I being too touchy-feely?" he asked, lighting up scarlet. Tōshirō hummed with a smirk and settled his arm back down around Ichigo's broad shoulders, neither agreeing nor denying.

" _Touchy-feely_ ," he repeated softly, amused. "You're an idiot."

"Thanks," replied Ichigo earnestly, his voice quiet and flooded with embarrassment. "Come here," he added after a moment's silence between them, his whole body freely drifting forward to lie further on Tōshirō's thighs. It was a little uncomfortable but neither complained; instead Ichigo titled their foreheads together and leaned down for a kiss. They bumped noses the first time and they broke apart, laughing, encouraging them to be much more careful with the second attempt. The kiss tasted like mint and chocolate and the sweetness of the ice-cream they'd shared at dinner, but in spite of this it was awkward and clumsy and Tōshirō recoiled so fast at the tongue swiped between his lips that he almost toppled off of the bed. But it left them breathless and smiling, even if they couldn't look each other in the eyes to tell.

"I think that's a 'yes, you are being touchy-feely'," said Tōshirō. He swatted Ichigo's hand away, regarding him playfully yet resolutely. "But why would I expect anything different from an eighteen year old boy?"

"Oi!" said Ichigo, shuffling to sit next to him. "Don't forget you're eighteen too."

"Ah yes," said Tōshirō cryptically. "As if I could be exempt from the laws of nature."

Ichigo had absolutely no idea what that meant, but 'eighteen' and 'nature' made him think of sex, and 'sex' made him think of Tōshirō. Unsure whether or not that was the desired connotation, he chuckled nervously and retrieved his tea. The presence of the mug established a barrier between them, the cheap china a titanium fort, and they shuffled apart, the atmosphere between them abruptly lost.

There was a moment of awkward quiet.

"Supernatural?" Tōshirō asked.

Ichigo smiled.

 

 

break

 

Kissing was easier after that. Like a married couple in their honeymoon phase, they stole kisses here and there – after a shower, while waiting for the train, during the TV adverts – and laughed about it afterwards, the idea new and cherished. They tested each other's boundaries carefully; Ichigo learnt that touches were welcomed if forewarned, and in turn Tōshirō came to realise just how much Ichigo liked having his hair played with. Tickling very quickly became an act that earned a scolding from both sides; hugs were too embarrassing to talk about; but leaning against each other while watching a film was appreciated, though when Ichigo started to doze things got a little awkward.

They attempted to talk about it though, as best as they could, but they were boys and both unfamiliar with one another in a way they were not used to. They were both eager however, and willing to try, which was likely what lead to them kissing rather enthusiastically on Saturday night, dinner sitting warm in their bellies and fuelling the fire that urged them on.

It was when Ichigo moved away that he realised just how suggestive their position was. Mechanically he had straddled Tōshirō, elbows bent at either side of his head, and one of their hands was clasped together against the pillow that Tōshirō was gazing up at him from, eyes as bright as his cheeks.

"Are we moving too fast?" Ichigo asked. He felt he should lean back to ease their precarious state, but couldn't bring himself to tear his lips away from the smooth skin beneath him.

"Maybe," Tōshirō breathed, wide eyed and dishevelled.

Ichigo pulled himself away.

Tōshirō pulled him back.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Tōshirō muttered, linking their bodies together. Ichigo's breath hitched as he was enticed to flatten himself back down: Tōshirō was so much smaller than he was – his broad shoulders and defined edges seemed to swallow him up. "Are you okay with that?"

"God," said Ichigo, kissing Tōshirō gently on the chin. "I'm okay with anything."

A thin eyebrow rose in doubt.

"Hey it's true," Ichigo tried, his serious tone breaking as he started to grin. "Within reason. Not sure how I'd respond to something like a roleplay kink or BDSM –"

He desperately tried to will that thought away.

"– but I'm sure I'd cope."

He was blabbering. Tōshirō snorted and gave him the 'you're unbelievable' look. Ichigo chuckled anxiously and shifted; they both made sudden noises at the sharp jolt of heat, and he continued to laugh as a stupid thought came to him:

"There isn't anything you need to tell me is there?"

"Oh my god," panted Tōshirō, looking ready to kiss _and_ kill him. "No – _no_."

Ichigo laughed into his boyfriend's ear, watching with glee as his milky skin slowly darkened. "What would you like me to do instead?" he asked, moving away just enough to watch Tōshirō's alluring eyes follow his free hand as he slid it down and brushed it against his partner's cheek. He rubbed Tōshirō's skin in little circles, compelling the blush to grow beneath his hand.

"I don't know," Tōshirō mumbled. "But you're getting rather heavy."

"Alright, alright," said Ichigo, an idea forming in his mind. "Shuffle back."

Tōshirō wiggled out from underneath him, the duvet riding up with his flushed, eager body. He buried himself into the pillows and let his knees fall apart spontaneously – Ichigo leaned back to admire the view for a moment, licking his lips suggestively. Once he was desperate to rid his boyfriend of some of his clothes, he crawled forward with an open smile and brushed himself up against Tōshirō's jeans. Tōshirō pressed back welcomingly, watching him carefully. Ichigo ran his fingers up the pleats of the fabric, teasing the hidden skin with nimble taps and strokes, and then popped open the button sitting tight against Tōshirō's stomach.

"Can I?" he asked, laying his hand flat against the evident swell of excitement, tugging the zipper.

Tōshirō hummed, apparently not quite able to find the words to voice his encouragement. Instead, he swiftly shimmied out of his trousers and kicked them off of the bed, undecidedly fingering the waistband of his boxers. He startled when his socks were pulled off and flung down as well, and his tall, lean, unmistakably ginger boyfriend just shrugged at his surprise as if to say, 'you'd look stupid with them on'. Ichigo's hands then slid under his shirt, slowly, rhythmically exploring his navel, abdomen, and chest, and he noted that Tōshirō looked a touch relieved that the attention had turned away from the hardening arousal trapped under his boxers.

"Are you going to strip too?" Tōshirō probed, lifting a hand to return the impromptu massage.

"I dunno," said Ichigo, kissing his stomach and revering as the muscles tightened below his lips. "I could just sit here and adore you all night if you want."

"You might get bored."

Dark chocolate eyes flicked upwards, and Tōshirō averted his gaze at the dissatisfied scowl. " _Gomenasai_ ," he mumbled, and Ichigo's expression softened at the Japanese. Sighing, he leaned forward, claiming both Tōshirō's hand and his lips, sliding their bodies together until he elicited their mouths to fall open and their tongues to battle for supremacy. The conflict was fleeting and bittersweet.

"There's no need to doubt yourself," Ichigo whispered, as Tōshirō succumbed to the warm pressure of his presence. "And there's no need to be ashamed of doing so," he added, when Tōshirō yet again stared off into the pillows. He tilted his boyfriend's face up and beamed down at the wary, pale demeanour, and Tōshirō started to smile, as if Ichigo was the waking dawn of the morning, bright and unspoiled. They kissed for a second time, much gentler than before, permitting them plenty of time to attune to the other's taste, movements, and feel. Ichigo's shirt came off, and then his trousers, and it wasn't until the small body beneath his started to buck that he realised he'd lost his boxers sometime in-between. Tōshirō's smirk revealed the culprit, so Ichigo laughed wickedly and whipped off his underwear – Tōshirō yelped and kneed him in the side, and then deeply apologised when he wheezed out a gasp.

"It's cool, my fault," said Ichigo, holding a hand up in surrender.

Tōshirō huffed and rolled his eyes. "Dick," he breathed playfully.

"Well," teased Ichigo, leering lasciviously between them. "I see two."

He'd forever swear the second kick was contrived, even if Tōshirō consistently claimed that he'd just been trying to save his virtue.

" _Tōshirō_ , even after a blowjob you'll have more virtue than practically anyone," he stressed, clutching his side awkwardly.

"A blowjob?" came the reply after a beat, and Ichigo blinked, realising that Tōshirō was blushing again. "Is that what we're doing?"

"Well," Ichigo said again, voice as level as he could manage with his embarrassment rising onto his cheeks. "I was going to give it my best shot. If you want me to?"

Tōshirō nodded numbly.

Seeing this as a positive sign, Ichigo shuffled across the bed so that he was back between the other's thighs. Returning again to his flat, white stomach, Ichigo started to trial line of kisses down his partner's body, glancing up occasionally to measure Tōshirō's reaction. Tōshirō was still and tense – nervous – one of his hands seeking comfort in the tangled duvet, and yearning to quell his own frantic heartbeat as well, Ichigo reached over and entwined one of their hands together, rubbing a circle into one of ridged knuckles. No amount of porn could have prepared him for this, but Tōshirō's knees were trembling and his breathing hitched from time to time – especially when Ichigo lowered himself down and blew softly over his pelvis – so he continued on, eager to please.

Tōshirō's shirt was the only piece of clothing present, but it did little in diverting his focus away from the pink, bobbing cock just in the corner of his vision. He traced a circle around the base experimentally, marvelling at the texture and the heat pulsing into his hand. It was… peculiar from this position, but Ichigo wasn't going to let that deter him. He ghosted his fingers up the length, observing with an enthusiastic approval as Tōshirō sucked in a breath and rolled his head back into the pillows. With each kind touch he would respond in a different way, and Ichigo revelled in delight at how sensitive Tōshirō was. Sliding his fingers up and down induced a shudder; squeezing the base elicited a gasp. Tōshirō was an instrument to be loved, and Ichigo craved the pitch to be a little higher.

"Condom?" came a whisper, and he looked up to see Tōshirō's face a passionate scarlet. "I don't suppose you happen to –"

Ichigo was off the bed before he'd even finished the question. He felt a bit weird padding around a hotel room stark naked, but luckily his suitcase wasn't far.

Tōshirō made a sound of surprise from the bed. "You actually –"

"Dad's a doctor," said Ichigo, since that explained everything. He decided to not elaborate on his family's joy at playing Cupid. "Do we need to use one?"

"I'd –" tried Tōshirō, and much to Ichigo's disappointment he had covered his eyes with an arm. Crawling back onto the bed with the box, Ichigo reached over and pulled his arm away, grinning down at the mortified expression.

"Feel more comfortable with one, yeah?" he guessed, opening a packet. He flipped over the condom a few times, staring at it bizarrely, before carefully rolling it onto his partner. "At least this way the cleaners might not take our heads off."

Tōshirō chuckled, resting back again, eyes shut. "I can't imagine you'd –"

Ichigo licked his cock from base to tip and smirked around the head as his boyfriend made a quiet, gratified noise. "Speechless," he laughed. Tōshirō's face was tight with an uncontained pleasure, already sinking into the sensation, but one of his hands grasped around for support. Ichigo slipped their fingers back together and then dived back down, taking as much into his mouth as he could. The taste of the condom was unsatisfactory, to say the least, but the feel and weight of the cock between his lips was delightfully erotic. He had fantasised about what it would be like to give head (of course he had), but there were just no words that could describe it effectively enough.

He paused there, placing his free hand on Tōshirō's hip, and then sucked his way back up. He swiped his tongue over the smooth top, dipping down into each curve and crevice, and hummed appreciatively at every startled jolt of Tōshirō's frame. He did this a few times, each devoted movement becoming bolder, and then sunk back down again, swallowing more.

He was in control, yet he also wasn't. Tōshirō trusted him to be considerate, to watch and learn and respond to what felt good and what didn't; Ichigo may be the one giving pleasure, but he certainly wasn't in charge.

His rhythm was no doubt appalling, but Tōshirō was certainly in no position to complain. Ichigo tried to make up for his lack of technique through his enthusiasm, and it showed in the dirty, wet, breathless sounds of his tongue and lips lapping against the hot length. It wasn't as easy as Ichigo thought it might be, satisfying his partner, and Tōshirō was making much less noise than he'd expected. He wondered if that was his fault. Pulling away to voice the question provoked a desperate little sound, and his name tumbled out of Tōshirō's lips. Ichigo groaned and dipped back down, spreading a grin around the rough, reddened skin. Tōshirō was too lost to say something amusingly scathing in reply.

Ichigo could feel his own cock throbbing in arousal against his stomach. He wanted – needed – to please himself, but he knew that he couldn't let Tōshirō go. He feared that he was the only thing keeping him grounded, yet he was also the one enticing him to soar.

They only lasted for a few more agonising minutes. Ichigo grew brave and sucked and kissed and loved, causing Tōshirō to gasp and moan and writhe; words had been abandoned from his vocabulary, and Ichigo felt a giddy sort of pride in having reduced him to such a tantalising mess. He felt like he was high off of Tōshirō's pleasure. His brain was clouded with dirty images and thoughts: he wanted to treasure each one, remember each moment forever.

Thus, he had little warning of his boyfriend reaching his peak (though in retrospect he would consider the death-grip on his hand as an ample sign), and continued licking the twitching head right up until one of Tōshirō's bony knees knocked him in the side as he arched, crying out softly. Ichigo held still, eyes blown at the sight of his boyfriend biting his lips, trying to hold himself together as the tremors of his pleasure shook him to the core. It was something he wouldn't forget anytime soon, that was for sure.

When the heaving pants of air quietened, he pulled away with a sigh, pressing his cheek to the other's trembling thigh.

"Are you okay?" Ichigo asked.

Tōshirō slid a hand over his face, laughing sheepishly. "I think so," he groaned, exhaling deeply. He wiggled a bit and Ichigo gulped, half wishing that he wouldn't. "Come – come here. Let me." He made an ushering motion. Ichigo propped himself up over him and then kissed him on the nose. To his surprise, he was swatted away.

"What – ?"

Tōshirō kissed him on the jaw in apology and mumbled, "I hope you don't mind if I just use my hand."

Ichigo blinked stupidly for a second, but once he felt the small, lithe fingers wrap around his cock, he groaned and closed his eyes. "Do whatever you want," he muttered, and Tōshirō smiled.

Consequently they made a mess, but since it was just on Tōshirō and not on the sheets, they managed to clean it up without too much of a problem. Ichigo decided he wasn't going to get into his pyjamas ("What's the point? You've seen it all now,") so after Tōshirō switched into his glasses and slipped back into a pair of boxers, they spent the rest of the evening curled up together in bed. They watched some awful TV, caught the end of Back to the Future, and listened to the same news report three times before they figured the best option was to just get some sleep. This, of course, meant that they fought over sleeping positions for ten minutes, snogged for another five, and laid in the dark talking about anything for half an hour, until they could hardly hear their own voices anymore and had no idea what they were saying.

Unaware of when he had nodded off, Ichigo woke as he did most days; slowly, with a groan, and then all at once, blinking through the folds of his pillow. The duvet sat higher up his shoulders than as he normally set it, and the hem was crumpled and warm and _used_ beside him, but the eighteen year old didn't register that he hadn't slept alone that night until he sat up with a yawn, and the sight of his boyfriend crawling along the floor reached his tired eyes. He stared for a moment, appreciating the view of Tōshirō's backside, but then frowned at the unusual behaviour.

"What are you doing?"

Tōshirō sat back on his heels with a small sigh, turning towards him. Ichigo noted that their eyes didn't quite meet, and that Tōshirō's pale complexion resembled a bowl of raspberry ripple ice cream, his cheeks splashed with a rosy embarrassment. "My glasses," he said, almost forcing the words out. "I can't find them. I don't remember what I did with them last night."

Huh. So his boyfriend really was as blind as a bat. Ichigo found them soon enough – he hadn't comprehended how much he depended on his eyes until he saw Tōshirō start patting the carpet again, this time with lesser motions, as if trying to hide the action from Ichigo – and he handed them over. Tōshirō's back straightened the moment the room shifted into focus, but even so he was unprepared for the kiss that Ichigo gifted him with. Thus, it only lasted a second or two, but Ichigo was chuckling when he pulled away.

"Morning," the ginger said. "Do you want to shower first? I think they're kicking us out at eleven."

"What time is it?"

Ichigo hummed and folded himself over the bed to reach his mobile. He was fairly certain that Tōshirō was getting a spectacular view of his cock. "Just gone half nine," he said, flopping back down. "We could shower together to save time?"

Tōshirō rolled his eyes at the suggestion, but they clambered into the bathroom together nonetheless. Fifteen minutes later they were resembling drowned Teletubbies with their red skins, vibrant hair, and white towels wrapped around their stomachs, but Tōshirō effectively ruined the image by muttering something dark and dirty as they hunted around for clothes, and Ichigo wondered if his childhood would ever be the same again.

After an uneventful breakfast (though the toaster did catch on fire and the entirety of the restaurant just sat there and stared at it, but it wasn't anything remarkable to note) they watched a bit of TV before packing, triple checking everything, and then signed out at the reception. The trains were second-nature to them now, so they arrived home in the early afternoon without any fuss, where the rest of the family eagerly greeted them.

Isshin went and cried over Masaki's poster while they settled back into the routine, and it was as Ichigo went to fetch himself a glass of water that he realised Tōshirō was standing in the living room doorway, watching the bearded, blubbering Kurosaki from afar. Their Japanese guest looked confused, so Ichigo padded only quietly to stand beside him, trying to work out what it was about Isshin that was making Tōshirō's brain whir.

"Did I ever tell you about mum?"

Judging by Tōshirō's startled expression, Ichigo had guessed right.

"…Maybe briefly," said the shorter male, keeping his voice quiet, seemingly having sensed that the topic would be incredibly sensitive to the family. "But I – I'll admit that I don't really recall…" He looked shamefaced, eyes flickering between Ichigo and Isshin, and Ichigo smiled sadly, attempting to reassure him.

"Well," he began softly, tapping his glass thoughtfully. "You know how we moved over here when dad got offered a better job – when the girls were really young?"

Tōshirō nodded; he knew that much. On the opposite side of the room, Isshin slid down onto his knees, hands still pressed against the poster. Ichigo shrugged at him with his face scrunched up in bewilderment, and Isshin shrugged back with a grin. Tōshirō watched the exchange with his eyebrows pulled together.

"Anyway," Ichigo went on slowly. "We settled in alright, went to school, you know the drill. It was great for a while – I think mum liked England. Then she and I got attacked one night by the river in town. It was raining really bad that night." He frowned at his hands. Tōshirō had gone unnaturally still next to him. "Dunno who it was or what they wanted – I don't remember that. But I saw them shoot her – she was trying to protect me. The sound was terrifying, but I don't think I understood you know? I woke up a week later in hospital. Dad kind of fell apart for a while – I don't blame him. Mum was, like, the centre of the family. I couldn't tell you what made him get the poster though, but he's a bit weird like that I guess."

He took a sip of his drink, seeming surprised that he was thirsty after saying so much in one go. It wasn't like him to talk endlessly after all.

"I'm sorry," said Tōshirō. "And thank you."

Ichigo smiled brightly at him. It still hurt to think of his mother, but he tried not to let it show. "We could go and visit her, if you want?" he asked tentatively, and Tōshirō appeared to pale – though it was difficult to tell.

"I couldn't," he gasped, shaking his head. "I don't –"

Despite having always been rather subdued at any mention of his mother, Ichigo found himself _wanting_ to take Tōshirō to visit her grave. This surprised him, but it pleased him as well. "She won't mind," he assured. "You're family."

After a quiet moment in which he looked more like a startled mouse than anything else, Tōshirō nodded. "I'd be honoured." He reached over and brushed one of his hands against Ichigo's. "Thank you."

"Not now though," said Ichigo, leaning down to kiss him. "Now I was thinking we could make –"

Yuzu screamed from the other side of the room. Ichigo whirled around so fast that he sloshed his glass of water all over the carpet, but there was no danger, or trouble, or his father doing something stupid. Instead, the rest of the family were staring at them, and it took the teenager a moment to realise why.

"You're dating!" cried Yuzu, jumping up from the sofa.

A dreadful sense of déjà vu settled over Ichigo. "Woops," he mumbled, laughing nervously as his little sister bounded over and threw her arms around Tōshirō.

"Welcome to the family!" she said, as Tōshirō patted her on the back awkwardly. "Come on, come on, honorary Kurosaki hug!"

"Oh god no," Ichigo began desperately, but by that point Isshin had already leapt towards them and lifted Tōshirō right off of his feet, yelling madly about embarrassing, lovey-dovey things. Tōshirō clung onto Isshin's shoulders as they spun around in a circle, and Ichigo feared that they'd crash into and break something if he didn't put a stop to it soon.

" _Dad_ – Jesus Christ put him down, I think he's had enough."

"Oh you're such a spoil-sport!" said Isshin, pouting at him, but he obediently settled Tōshirō back down on the ground. "See? He's fine."

Ichigo pulled his boyfriend back towards him, eyeing his father warily. "This is why I don't invite my friends over," he mumbled, and Tōshirō, who was trying to adjust his shirt without being noticed, quirked a smile.

"Well," Isshin said, laughing. "You look after my boy, alright Tōshirō? He's a bit of a handful sometimes."

For the first time since arriving in the household, Tōshirō finally had the chance to bow. Isshin looked momentarily surprised, but he nodded his head back in return, sending a pointed look over at his son. Ichigo understood what he was trying to say.

What were the Japanese customs for dating? Ichigo knew that Tōshirō had adapted well to their Western culture, but it wasn't fair to ask him to suppress what he'd grown up with just because of their differences. There was no denying that Tōshirō had a traditional background, but from what Ichigo had seen it wasn't as strict or formal as it could have been; Tōshirō's behaviour over the past few days was evidence of this. He'd obviously been comfortable enough to hug, kiss, and have a bit of fun in bed, but Ichigo knew that they'd have to talk about it soon. He hoped he hadn't unintentionally caused any offence in any way, but he liked to think that Tōshirō would have let him know if that had been the case.

Ichigo bit his lip as his father and boyfriend finished exchanging polite conversation. He wasn't too sure about that last thought. But Tōshirō seemed happy enough at the moment, so he wouldn't worry too much. No doubt their relationship would come up in conversation eventually, but Ichigo wasn't going to push it.

 

 

break

 

Ichigo shimmied into the guest bedroom with a muddled expression; both determined and embarrassed, eyes flickering down the hallway as he clicked the door shut.

"Your family are aware we're dating," said Tōshirō from the bed, glasses perched on his nose so that his amused glare had a hint of reproach to it. Ichigo shrugged and padded over, hitching the end of his yukata up over his ankles.

"I don't trust them not to spy," he complained with a roll of his eyes. Tōshirō shuffled over to give him more room in the bed, and Ichigo made himself comfortable under the duvet. "What're you reading?"

The cover of the book was waved under his nose. Ichigo almost snorted. "Macbeth?" he laughed. "How prodigious of you."

"You're the one who has a shelf dedicated just to Shakespeare," Tōshirō argued, returning his attention to the book and completely missing the expression his boyfriend pulled. "I'm not very far through it though – it's difficult."

Ichigo hummed, leaning over to check the page number. He could imagine why Tōshirō was having trouble with the language – even with English as a first language Shakespeare's plays were a whole other literacy level. Ichigo had a knack for understanding it, but not everybody was so lucky and he wasn't surprised that Tōshirō, only knowing English as a second language, was still only on the first act.

"Have you met Lady Macbeth yet?"

Tōshirō turned back a page and then said, "Yes. She was reading a letter from her husband. She's – ah – rather more dominant than Macbeth isn't she?"

Ichigo hummed in agreement. He lay down, kicking the duvet further over himself, and grinned up at the raised eyebrows of his boyfriend above him. Now that his perspective had changed the orange glow of the lamp beside Tōshirō seemed to be haloing his spiky hair. The young Japanese man appeared softer around the edges, not so startlingly pale, and older in a sense – matured. Ichigo wondered briefly if he would still look the same five, ten years in the future, and they would still be happy to sit together like this.

"What?" asked Tōshirō.

"Nothing," said Ichigo. "Just glad you're here."

Surprised by the heartfelt admission, Tōshirō just huffed as he usually did when unsure as to how he should respond. He fingered the pages of the play and then closed the book, settling it beside the lamp. Saying nothing, Tōshirō then laid down next to Ichigo: smiling, the ginger turned on his side and propped himself up.

"Can I kiss you?"

Tōshirō blinked at him. "Of course," he said. "I hope you brushed your teeth."

Ichigo laughed and snogged him. They fumbled around for a bit longer than that like teenagers do, excited and nervous, and they both hoped that when they finally decided to sleep, nobody else in the house had been awake to hear them.

Given how much Ichigo had laughed, he was pretty certain they might be receiving some pointed looks in the morning.

 

 

break

 

"Do they serve tea here?" Tōshirō whispered, glancing fleetingly at the menu. "Or is there a rule that I have to have coffee at a Costa Coffee?" He kept his voice low just in case any of the customers or staff were offended, and Ichigo stared at him incredulously as they walked up to the high burgundy counter.

"Yes you have to have coffee at a Costa Coffee," he laughed. Tōshirō looked doubtful. Ichigo yielded almost immediately. "Yeah, I guess there's tea if you want it – green tea if you ask. You'll be missing out though, trust me."

"Fine," Tōshirō sighed, but he didn't sound incredibly put-out. "What should I get?"

It was Tuesday. Yesterday they'd done little more than play video games, laugh over pictures on the internet, kiss fleetingly when nobody was watching, and made a disaster of the kitchen. They'd only been trying to make brownies, but apparently kitchens and Tōshirō don't mix and they'd managed to get flour and brownie mix everywhere. Karin had walked in, stared, and then hurried off to distract her sister from coming downstairs for the best part of ten minutes while the boys tried to clear up. Luckily they'd gotten away with it and Yuzu was none the wiser. Ichigo loved his sister but she was terrifying. Seeing the smoke come out of her ears when she saw the state of her kitchen wasn't something he wanted to experience.

He listed off the menu, translating each of the drinks into an easier language to understand when Tōshirō blinked blankly at 'mocha' and 'americano'. Consequently Tōshirō settled for a simple flat white ("Which one's just a normal coffee again?"), and Ichigo ordered a cappuccino along with two of the cakes on display to round the price off at something rather expensive. ("They look sickly." "They look _amazing_." "I'm not sure I'll like it." "Fine by me, I'll eat it for you.") As they were waiting for their drinks to arrive, a familiar voice called out Ichigo's name from behind them – Ichigo swivelled around immediately, spying with horror Elizabeth, Annie, and Chad seated at one of the tables. Annie waved him over happily, but Elizabeth was staring at Tōshirō with her mouth hanging open. His back to them, Chad only glanced up briefly when Ichigo wandered over – Tōshirō remained hovering at the counter.

"Ichigo," Annie grinned. Her full cup of coffee suggested they hadn't been there long, and Ichigo cursed at their timing. It wasn't that he wanted to avoid his friends while with Tōshirō, but more that he wanted to avoid his friends _in general_. They were a persistent bunch of weirdoes. "How are you?"

"Alright," he replied absentmindedly, turning to address Chad. "How the hell'd they manage to rope you into this?"

"We're not _that_ bad," muttered Annie, regarding him warmly. "Who's your friend?"

Ichigo turned back towards Tōshirō, who was now guarding their drinks and watching them helplessly. Feeling bad but quirking a smile at the sight, Ichigo called him over. Unfortunately he knew that there was no way he could evade this conversation. "Guys – Tōshirō, Tōshirō – Annie, Elizabeth, and Chad," he introduced. Chad turned slightly at that – Ichigo wondered if he remembered that Tōshirō was the one that used to help them with their Math work. "They're my friends from class. I don't think any of us are going to the same uni though…" He trailed off.

"Nah," said Annie cheerfully. "But you can't get rid of us that easily."

"It's nice to meet you Tōshirō," said Elizabeth. She smiled over her coffee, and Ichigo knew exactly what she was about to say. "You wouldn't happen to be the person Ichigo constantly kept texting, would you?"

"Um," said Tōshirō, looking unsure on how to approach his boyfriend's friends. "I wouldn't say it was constant…"

They laughed as Ichigo rolled his eyes. "He wouldn't put his phone down," said Annie, winking at the blushing ginger. "The amount of times he almost got it confiscated –"

"Ah come on, it's cute," sighed Elizabeth. She nudged her friend in the side. "I've never seen a boy so smitten." Ichigo and Tōshirō exchanged nervous glances as the girls squealed – 'smitten' was not a word either of them would use to describe themselves. "You _are_ dating, right?"

"Um," they said together. Ichigo rubbed his neck uncertainly. Tōshirō looked like he wanted to drown himself in the drinks that were steadily getting cold in front of them.

"That's so adorable!"

"I totally called it!"

"How long have you been together?"

"Oh my god, are we interrupting your date? We are, aren't we?"

"Oh my god I'm so sorry!"

"You are cute though."

"Totally worth it."

Annie and Elizabeth shared a look and started to giggle. In the stunned silence that they left in their wake, Chad spoke up for the first time in the conversation. He glanced over at Tōshirō thoughtfully, but Ichigo thankfully noted that his gaze wasn't as intense as that of the girls'. "I'd suggest going and enjoying your drinks somewhere where they can't see you," he said a-matter-of-factly.

"Probably a good idea," Ichigo mumbled. He nudged Tōshirō to pick up the tray. "We can chat some other time, okay?" he said to the girls, making his tone as firm as possible.

"Yeah, sure," said Annie brightly.

"Go enjoy yourselves," said Elizabeth. They continued to giggle and Ichigo rolled his eyes. He sent a grateful look towards Chad, briefly patting his shoulder, and then followed Tōshirō through the building. They settled in the corner, out of sight from the door and (more importantly) Ichigo's friends, but in view of the majority of the café and the counter. It offered a sense of privacy without excluding them from the rest of the customers.

"Your friends are… nice," said Tōshirō, choosing his words awkwardly. "Cake?"

Carefully putting his extraordinarily fat teacup down in front of him, Ichigo gratefully took the offered plate with a roll of his eyes. "They're nutters, honestly. Chad's alright. Don't ask me why he's spending the day with them though." He huffed. "They're so going to interrogate me later."

"Sounds like Matsumoto," Tōshirō noted, amused.

"How is she?" Ichigo asked, thinking back to the first time he'd met her. She had come across as a bubbly, friendly woman, and he liked the fact that she seemed to watch out for Tōshirō. Their personalities no doubt clashed quite badly at times, but from what Ichigo remembered of that Skype call, Tōshirō and Matsumoto got on surprisingly well.

Tōshirō shrugged, drumming his fingers against his large teacup. "The same as ever. We ended up going to the same University, so I see her around sometimes. I believe she's taking Foreign Languages – she's certainly chatty enough for it – so we're not situated in the same department."

"Do you meet up occasionally?"

"Yeah," said Tōshirō, hardly thinking about it. "She seems to think I need looking out for, but she's subtle about it so that's something. My cousin – Hinamori – babies me whenever I see her."

Ichigo smiled, trying to imagine his boyfriend's face at being excessively fussed over. It would probably be an extreme version of his pout, just twice as horrified and four times as funny. "Has Matsumoto got a boyfriend or anything?"

"What is this?" asked Tōshirō as he peeled away the wrapper of the cake. Ichigo hadn't eaten his yet, and for good reason. It looked awfully sweet and he didn't want to make himself feel sick when they'd only just started talking. "Interested in my friends' love lives?"

Ichigo snorted. He stirred his cappuccino lazily, watching Tōshirō nibble the cake cautiously. "What's your ultimate comfort food then?"

"Are you asking just in case I have an adverse reaction to this cake?"

"Obviously," came the sarcastic mutter.

Rolling his eyes, Tōshirō replied, "Well you're out of luck: I like ramen. Instant ramen's far too bland, but I wouldn't turn down a bowl of shoyu ramen with pork, bean sprouts, boiled egg, and green onions. I can't imagine it would be quite the same over here. If we're playing interrogation then what's yours?"

"Honey on toast," said the other teenager instantly. If he was feeling sick then he sometimes raided the cupboards for honey – he'd probably put it on whatever he could get his hands on if he could, but toast was a safe option. It reminded him of his mother – perhaps she'd given him some when he was young and picky about what he ate – and anything that did that he had to treasure. "If you could be anything, what would it be?"

They continued like this for a while, delving into each other's heads to discover every detail. Their questions gradually grew more exotic, both tired of the standard 'what's your favourite…', until Ichigo smiled wickedly and said:

"Guilty. Pleasures."

"Oh," sighed Tōshirō, pinching his eyebrows together thoughtfully. "Screw you."

Ichigo laughed. "Is that one of them?"

Tōshirō automatically scowled at him, but his eyes were warm and he was clearly attempting to hold back a smile. "Logically that can't be a guilty pleasure," he argued decisively, wiping Ichigo's triumphant grin from his tanned face. "Nice try though."

Not one to be deterred, Ichigo replied, "Why? Do you want it to be?"

Someone two tables down coughed pointedly.

"Sorry," they both said automatically, and then they dropped their voices to a whisper and hunched over.

"I forgot we were in Costa," Ichigo mumbled.

Tōshirō tutted. "We can just wait for her to leave."

"Why? Do you want to keep talking about guilty pleasures?"

The 'thwanck' that followed was Tōshirō kicking him under the table.

They diverted the topic of conversation to something more public-friendly for the next twenty minutes. Once the eavesdropping woman and her young son packed up and left, the boy squealing as he trampled through the building, they shared a keen look and rolled their eyes. Ichigo got up for another round of coffee and threw Tōshirō's wallet back to him with a laugh and a 'you have to be joking' expression. When he returned with the prospect of too much caffeine, they picked up their conversation where they had left off. Ichigo had known they would end up having 'the relationship talk' at some point, so he was glad there wasn't anybody sitting around them anymore.

"Hey," he began, stirring his drink lazily. "Have we been… doing things okay?"

And that sounded just as terrible as he'd thought it would. Tōshirō looked confused, and Ichigo didn't blame him. He wouldn't have understood the context of that question either.

"Us," he tried again, thinking his words over carefully. If he'd been a girl, trying to talk about _them_ would be so much easier. He motioned between them rather unhelpfully. "You and I."

Wow the words were really gushing out now, weren't they?

"Are you asking me if I think we're moving too fast?" Tōshirō asked carefully.

_Kind of_ , Ichigo thought. _Not really_. He shrugged, hoping his body language would express what his words could not.

"Well, no, I don't think the pace is too fast," Tōshirō went on. "I'm happy with how we are – unless _you_ want to slow –"

"No!" Ichigo interrupted, somewhat glad that Tōshirō, for all his ingenuity, was just as hopeless at talking about the logistics behind their romance as he was. Yet another thing they had in common. "As long as we're both alright with it, we can do whatever, yeah?" He didn't know what he was saying, but it sounded alright. "But I guess I was just wondering about… your customs. You know, culturally. Is there anything I should be doing? Or not doing? What about your parents?"

Tōshirō blinked, seemingly not having expected the conversation to turn that way. Ichigo wondered if that was just a normal reaction to being asked about cultural differences, or if he needed to add another thing to the 'why I don't like Kusaka' list.

"My family aren't that traditional," Tōshirō went on, attempting to sound encouraging. Ichigo felt his shoulders sag involuntarily, and the other laughed merrily. "We have our ways around the house of course – outside shoes aren't allowed inside, for example, and we have different… _rules_ about the bathroom, I suppose – your bathrooms look very different to ours – but nobody's expecting you to do anything drastic. I mean, my parents both knew Kusaka and they didn't expect a huge amount from him, just to treat me well. But your father expects me to do the same with you, so that's not down to culture. It's just manners; part of being in a relationship. My parents won't expect you to _marry me_ or anything – not sure how that would have gone down with Kusaka…"

He trailed off, half grinning and half grimacing. Ichigo didn't know how to respond to that last thought either, but a weight had lifted from his shoulders with the rest. He should have researched this himself, really, but the internet wasn't always an incredibly good source. Still, he pushed down a bubble of guilt at how Tōshirō had apparently thought ahead about their situation and he hadn't. Presumptuousness was a Kurosaki trait, after all.

"But would they want to, I dunno, meet me?" he asked.

Tōshirō levelled him with an unimpressed stare. "Of course they'll want to meet you. One day. Doesn't every parent?"

Ichigo chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head. "I meant –"

"I know what you meant," came the reply, softer. "We'll just have to see how things work out."

Feeling that that was a reasonable idea, Ichigo took a sip of his coffee and moved on to his next thought. He thought about wording his question carefully (or as carefully as a Kurosaki could), but eventually decided to just through caution to the wind and blurted out a sentence blunt and simple, his way with words not as etiquette as Tōshirō's.

"Did you have sex with Kusaka?"

Tōshirō's spoon chinked against his mug. Ichigo had a feeling he'd just parachuted into the heart of treacherous ground without the ability to see, hear, or comprehend anything, wearing a neon orange flag that read 'COME AND GET ME'.

"No."

Ichigo's mouth opened and closed a few times. Tōshirō raised an eyebrow at him and then sighed when the ginger only rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'd only known him for six months," he elaborated, huffing up his fringe. "It wasn't like we'd been friends for years before hand."

_Like us_ , Ichigo thought. _Is that what you're implying?_

Tōshirō leaned forward to rest his chin in his hand. He looked pensive, as if he had heard Ichigo's thoughts and wasn't sure how to reply. Wondering if he was going to explain even further, Ichigo waited quietly, but when Tōshirō said nothing else about his relationship with Kusaka he realised nothing else would probably ever be said. Ichigo didn't need to know about what had transpired between them – honestly, it wasn't his business. He cared, yes, because Tōshirō hadn't come out of the relationship any better off, but Ichigo liked to think he could help remedy that without prying apart old memories.

"Hey Ichigo, Tōshirō," interrupted a voice, and they both turned towards Annie, Elizabeth, and Chad. The trio appeared to be finished with their lunch now (Elizabeth was trying rather unsuccessfully to zip up her coat), and about ready to depart.

"We're off now – it was nice to meet you Tōshirō," Annie went on, smiling. "Ichigo, we'll see you on Thursday, yeah?"

Ichigo blinked, sharing a perplexed glance with his boyfriend. "Thursday?" he echoed, sitting up straighter to give her his full attention. "What's happening on Thursday?"

Even Chad seemed amused at that question.

"Results day?" Annie continued, rolling her eyes exasperatedly at him. "A level results? Seeing what university you're going to? _Biggest day of your life_?"

Ichigo had absolutely forgotten about that. "Is that _this_ week?"

Annie laughed. "Wow, give the boy a medal! And to think you applied to the best university in the country."

"Oi, I've been busy!"

The two girls looked between Ichigo and Tōshirō, wearing mirroring expressions of glee. Chad discreetly turned away. Ichigo had a funny feeling that wasn't the right thing to say.

"Yeah," mumbled Elizabeth pointedly, nodding in such a way that she appeared to be indicating towards Tōshirō. Ichigo knitted his eyebrows, frowning at her. "We can see _that_."

Chad coughed to halt the conversation before it advanced any further.

Ichigo grumbled once the trio left, shooting dark looks towards the door. Tōshirō just chuckled and sipped the froth off of his coffee.

 

break

 

They had one more place to stop at before they returned to Ichigo's house. Tōshirō appeared horrendously uneasy when he realised where they were going; Ichigo rolled his eyes and dragged him along by his sleeve, effectively ignoring all complaints as they shuffled their way into the cemetery.

"Relax, she's not going to bite you," he insisted, meandering his way down the cobbled path along a route his feet had paced many times before. "She'll adore you. Dad and the girls already do."

Judging by his boyfriend's face that clearly wasn't the problem at hand, but Tōshirō offered no words of protest. Not deluded enough to even try and attempt to work out the musing of the genius's mind, Ichigo took the action as a success.

The curve of Masaki's gravestone was slightly weathered from the years that had aged it, but the ground around it was neatly kept and surrounded by flowers. Ichigo ran his fingers along the cold engraving, tracing the letters that were starting to fade away. Maybe he should ask his father to replace it before he went to University.

"Hey mum, sorry, haven't got any flowers today," he said, chuckling like a sheepish five year old. Tōshirō stopped quietly just behind him, wordless; Ichigo could feel their jackets brushing together. "This is –"

My best friend, I hope you like him. We met over the internet – I was being really careful, honest, (I think I'm the forty year old stalker out of the two of us) but something about him just captured me and I'm glad it did because he's great. A bit anti-social and just generally neurotic about everything, but I know there's a sense of humour in him somewhere. He's a tough nut to crack – I think I'm doing a good job at it though. I've known him for a few years now and we've just started dating, which will be difficult 'cause he lives in Japan – oh yeah, I'm gay; dad and the girls are cool with it though, are you? It came as a shock for all of us, but I won't go into that story. I'm sure you can work it out. Long-distance relationships suck but we're going to give it our best shot – he's worth it. I like to think he considers me to be worth it too. Don't make me ask him though 'cause that's girly and, seriously, there are some things even I won't lower myself down to. You can ask him though, if you want? I kinda dragged him here, I think he feels a little awkward. He's like that. But it's a good kind of awkward – a thoughtful one. He's so unbelievably careful with everything he says and does so I know you'll appreciate it – we Kurosakis need to have someone to mellow us out, don't we? He's really good at that, I promise. He really good at lots of things actually – definitely a genius – but I seem to have a talent at surprising him. He pulls the best face when he's confused. And when he's sleeping, but don't tell him I said that.

"– Tōshirō." He nudged his statue of a boyfriend. "You wanna say 'hi'?"

Tōshirō's eyes dropped down to the gravestone. He was respectably quiet for a moment, and then said without an inch of his previous aversion: "It's nice to meet you, Kurosaki-san."

Ichigo felt a pang. It was times like this that he wished his mother were still alive. She would have loved Tōshirō, he was sure, and as hard as he tried to picture her face when he introduced them, Ichigo just couldn't recall a clear enough memory of her. Determined not to let his sadness show, Ichigo continued smiling as Tōshirō vowed to the gravestone, his tone lifting in confidence with every sentence. It was strange, Ichigo sympathised, his mouth twitching, talking to a slab of marble, but he liked to think his mother was up there somewhere.

(It was either that or she was locked in the poster that his father sobbed over and Ichigo thought she deserved a better fate than that to be honest).

When Tōshirō seemed to run out of things to say, Ichigo picked up the end of conversation. He updated his mother on the family ("Yuzu's showing an interest in boys – dad's not sure what to think"), his recent happenings ("Got lost in London, but we're alright. Tōshirō almost got run over by a dog – it was brilliant"), and his plans for the future – well, his tentative ones ("Getting my results on Thursday so I guess I'll be finding out which University I'll be going to next month. I'll come and see you again before I leave, I promise. Dad'll probably cry when I leave – why did you marry such a wimp?")

"Thank you," Tōshirō said, as strode back through the graveyard, side by side. There was nobody else around so they were holding hands – but they didn't talk about it, as if blatantly ignoring the action would save their prideful sense of masculinity.

Ichigo just shrugged offhandedly, glad that he had brought Tōshirō to visit his mother. Yet there was something startlingly exposed about it that he didn't like, something that made him feel vulnerable to Tōshirō's perceptive gaze, but if the shorter man was aware of his churning gut he didn't bring it to attention.

"Eh," said Ichigo, attempting to push pass the topic. "You want to play on the Xbox when we get home?"

There was a tut from Tōshirō. "Are you going to let me win this time?"

He laughed. "Hell no, you're terrible! It's fun kicking your arse. Even Karin can beat you."

"Your sister is an athletic, sly, cheating mastermind and she's terrifying."

"…True."

 

 

break

 

His father's way of celebrating Ichigo's A level results was dragging the twins out of the house and 'leaving you two at it' for the evening. Well, that wasn't entirely true – they had ordered take out and stuffed themselves silly, and spent the afternoon enjoying each other's company and talking about the next stage of Ichigo's education now that his exams were out of the way. But at seven Isshin had announced he was taking Yuzu and Karin out to the cinema and probably wouldn't be back for a good three hours, winking at the two boys as he slipped on his shoes.

Mortified, Ichigo had offered no words to rectify his family's thinking, and then wished he had when his sisters copied Isshin's expression as they bid them goodbye.

"Ah, 'Doctor Who' or 'Lord of the Rings'?" he asked when he wandered back into the living room, willing Tōshirō not to have noticed the lewd looks from the family.

Perched on the end of the sofa with his copy of 'Macbeth', Tōshirō had lost the awkward air of being a guest in the house. The pillow had melded into his shape and there was a used mug on the stand next to the sofa – a half-eaten packet of biscuits was lying next to it, the crumbs dotted on the scratched frame of Tōshirō's glasses.

"No wait, I have a better idea," said Ichigo, interrupting before his boyfriend could say anything. "Have you ever watched 'Sherlock'?"

Watching the ginger rummage through the DVD cupboard, Tōshirō voiced a negative.

"Awesome," Ichigo said, grasping around for the TV remote. "Get me a glass of coke would you? I'll just set this up."

Tōshirō disappeared into the kitchen and was gone for a minute more than necessary before he called through into the living room, his surprised tone making Ichigo look up from the TV. "Yeah?" Ichigo answered, having missed what was said.

Tōshirō came back in then with two glasses. "Your father has left us a range of snacks," he said, but the red tinge to his cheeks suggested something else. "And – something else."

He didn't need to say anymore for Ichigo to catch the general drift of his thoughts. "I'll kill him," he grumbled, his brain conjuring a series of inappropriate images of what exactly his obtrusive and overly-nosy father could have left for them.

"He means well," said Tōshirō lightly, pinching his eyebrows together. "This is just his way of showing it."

"He could be more subtle about it," muttered Ichigo, vaulting around the sofa to face the music. Bags of popcorn, crisps, marshmallows, and all sorts of other sweet foods were piled on the table (though Ichigo noted happily that there were things that Tōshirō was more likely to eat too), and amongst it all was a box of lubricating gel and _yet another_ packet of condoms.

There was a sticky note attached to the box.

_I'm sure you two are having fun but don't forget to be responsible! Tōshirō, sometimes my son's mouth works faster than his brain, so don't be afraid to put him in his place now and then (wink wink nudge nudge)._

At the bottom of the message were a smiley face and a scruffy scribble of a thumbs up. Ichigo stared at it and then scrunched the note up in his hand.

"I'm actually going to kill him."

Beside him, Tōshirō had picked up the lubricant box with a strictly neutral face and was reading the packaging. Commending him for this bravery, Ichigo threw the note in the bin and gathered up the food, leaving the condoms were they were.

"We can't just leave them on the table," said Tōshirō reprovingly. "I'm certain there are some things you don't want your sisters to know."

_They probably know already_ , Ichigo thought dismally, but they cleared the table and took everything into the other room. The food was dumped in the middle of the sofa, but the _other items_ were placed rather precariously on the coffee table where they would hopefully not prove to be a distraction.

'Sherlock' ended up being a fantastic choice of evening entertainment. Tōshirō was _enthralled_ from the very first episode, and Ichigo could just imagine his extraordinary brain ticking along with the characters to see if he could piece everything together before they did. The end of the first season was met with a stunned silence; Ichigo amused himself by mouthing along to the lines, but Tōshirō hardly batted him an eyelash. Knowing that he shouldn't be feeling quite so envious of a TV programme, the ginger munched away on the popcorn at the other end of the sofa. When the credits rolled at the end, Tōshirō blinked through his captivated daze and said,

"That was great."

"Knew you'd like it," said Ichigo, mentally patting himself on the back. There must have been a hint of negativity to his tone, for his boyfriend's eyebrows dipped very slightly; barely a twitch but accompanied by a charmed smile.

"You're… jealous…?"

Ichigo hastily denied.

Tōshirō's smile grew, though it softened empathetically at the edges. "I'm sorry," he said gently. Then he bit his lip and rolled his eyes. "I promise not to replace you with a fictional character."

Ichigo threw a piece of popcorn at him. "You're making me feel like an idiot," he mumbled, wishing he was better at masking his emotions.

"You _are_ an idiot," Tōshirō replied promptly. He shuffled across the expanse between them and from their new proximity Ichigo could now see that there wasn't a hint of hesitance behind his fond smile. Over the past week they had become accustomed to each other's presence. Sometimes it was obtrusive and stuffy, like too many layers of blankets: it was desirable, soft, and comforting, but as constricting as a puppy following around its pack. But most of the time they revelled in both it and the chances to observe each other's habits, their body language, and learn how they responded to stimuli. Tōshirō, for instance, tucked his hands up his sleeves, and it had taken Ichigo a discrete few days of watching before he connected the gesture to that of a huff: 'I'm right, you're wrong, but I'm too polite to say anything about it.'

He also rolled the ends of his sleeves around his hands when he was experiencing a sudden burst of introversion. Ichigo liked the fact that this habit had slowly whittled away while in the Kurosaki home; their ease was, apparently, rubbing off on him.

Ichigo had expected that. It was no secret that his family adored Tōshirō – Yuzu fussed over him at every opportunity, showering him with 'good mornings,' 'how was your days,' and 'I hope my brother's been treating you okays', and Isshin was miraculously rather tame in retrospect and encouraged Tōshirō to talk about his life back in Japan. Even Karin, who hardly spoke a word unless she was yelling at her video games, had taken to smiling and joking around with their guest. Not that Tōshirō was precisely a guest anymore. After spending two weeks in their home he had become entitled to slob around (not that he did), eat all their food (not that he had the stomach for it), use all the hot water (not that that was possible since tepid showers were his norm), and see each family member in various states of undress in the pre-breakfast routine (not that he ever raised his eyes from the floor while they passed). Ichigo was certain he wasn't the only one who was going to notice the Tōshirō-shaped hole in their house once he returned home.

He didn't want Tōshirō to leave. He felt needy admitting it, and he had known his thoughts would eventually succumb to the constant reminder that the visit only lasted two weeks, yet there was nothing to reassure him that this wasn't the only time they would have together. Promises could be broken – circumstance, changes in life, lack of attraction, unwillingness to stay confined to a partner on the other side of the world. Ichigo didn't think for a second that either of them would be unfaithful, but the distance between them was substantial and there was absolutely no guarantee they would ever be able to settle down somewhere – _together_. They both had their education to complete, jobs to gain, and livelihoods to earn, and by the time they could afford to spend the time and money into moving from one country to another, what was to say that years hadn't passed? What was it say that they weren't happy where they were? And what was to say that they were still together?

"What are you thinking about?" asked Tōshirō, and Ichigo blinked, realising that his eyes had unfocused on the TV. Astute teal eyes were regarding him, scanning for the tell-tale signs of his inner musings. Tōshirō was sitting back beside him, on his knees in the strictly Japanese way that Ichigo's body would complain about if he ever attempted it, but there was hardly a breath of distance between them.

Ichigo's involuntary twitch towards him must have revealed some yearning persona for he didn't ask again, but leaned forward a fraction in invitation. Deciding to keep his silence for now, the ginger smiled and enticed a kiss, craving the feel of Tōshirō wet and wholehearted against him. Despite having mastered the act of not bumping noses, his desire was short-lived as Tōshirō moved away after the first few touches; not far, Ichigo noted with relief, but enough that he couldn't encourage Tōshirō's round, rosy lips to open up for him again.

"You taste like popcorn."

Eyebrows shooting up, Ichigo almost laughed. "That's a problem?" he asked, working his tongue nevertheless to try and get some of the sticky snack out of his teeth.

"You're sweet," Tōshirō clarified, and Ichigo replied with a kind 'thanks' before recognising the statement for what it was.

Right. His boyfriend was one of those strange people who didn't eat cake.

Chuckling this time, Ichigo said, "Do you want me to get a mint?" His tone was teasing but he was prepared to actually get up and remedy the taste in his mouth if it was necessary.

"No," said Tōshirō quickly – _too quickly_. "Don't bother."

"…You like it."

"No I don't."

Happiness washed over Ichigo's tanned features like a blush, pulling the corners of his mouth up into a wide, open-mouthed smile. His delight bubbled with glee as he caught Tōshirō's gaze flicker down ever so slightly, an overwhelming reaction in spite of the sheer willpower Ichigo knew the other possessed.

" _God_ ," he breathed, tugging Tōshirō back down again for a second kiss. "I just want to take you to bed and never let you leave."

There were numerous ways Ichigo realised that confession could be taken, but Tōshirō's lax laughter ringing out through the living room still surprised him. Pastel skin tinged red with the shade of Ichigo's words and the strokes of his tongue, he looked positively entertained by the idea. Ichigo felt a surge of sorrow at the sight and made a move to – do _something_ , but Tōshirō kissed that thought away, and then kissed him again, and then a third time to quell his laughter.

Small hands tangling in his hair, Ichigo couldn't hold back a startled noise at the abrupt boldness of his boyfriend. He didn't offer any objection, however, and instead helped their bodies to ease together, flush, for a simply intimate embrace. (A shy Tōshirō was endearing, but Ichigo preferred seeing the more confident aspect of his nature, the one kept tight behind closed doors).

"Are you _propositioning_ me?"

"Err," said Ichigo, because that hadn't been his intention _but now that it had been mentioned_ … "Maybe? Depends if you want to be propositioned?"

He thought of the box of lube they had put on the coffee table and felt his gut swell in arousal. They had touched and explored and brought each other to release numerous times, but they had never gone as far to need some form of lubricant. Ichigo suddenly needed to know if it was the absence of lube or reluctance to progress that far that had been what held them back, but as he slipped his arms around Tōshirō's waist and exulted in the smile it induced, he found that his tongue wouldn't form the shape of the question he needed to ask.

What tumbled out of his mouth instead was a crude, typically teenage, "You should take off your jeans," and Tōshirō laughed with a bright, _knowing_ gleam to his eyes.

Ichigo practically wanted to shrivel up into a ball and die because he was so utterly transparent and it was _embarrassing_.

"Just my jeans?" Tōshirō asked – and oh, _there_ was the whisper of timidity Ichigo had been waiting for.

"Well," he replied, swallowing back his humiliation and wetting his lips. "Gotta start somewhere."

'Very true' the other's expression seemed to say, the quirk of his lips unable to argue with Ichigo's declaration. Tōshirō popped open the button and undid the zip, and just for a second – _just for a second_ – Ichigo thought they were actually about to have sex right there on the living room sofa. Yet Tōshirō didn't make any further move to slide out of his trousers, and alternatively glanced around the room with a troubled expression, as if it was filled with spectators that wouldn't catch the hint that they wanted privacy.

The fire of arousal burning fiercer with every second, Ichigo hastily nudged his boyfriend's hips. "My room?"

Tōshirō mumbled a 'yes' against his lips and thoroughly delayed them from moving for a good five minutes. Though nearly in a state of reducing himself to _rutting_ into Tōshirō's thigh at the end of it, Ichigo couldn't say that he minded.

He took the lubricant and condoms upstairs with them. If Tōshirō hadn't noticed then he certainly did when Ichigo threw them down onto the bed where he'd just been about to sit: he blinked at the presence of the lube for a second, and then perched down next to it.

"Um," said Ichigo, wondering if he had just ruined everything. Hopeful that the fervent atmosphere hadn't diminished, he went to move the two items to somewhere less obvious when Tōshirō spoke up, hushed, and grabbed the front of Ichigo's shirt to encourage him onto the bed.

"Leave them."

Ichigo stammered out an agreement and was rewarded with a characteristic eye roll. Tōshirō was blushing, however, as he shuffled back into the pillows: it was a familiar position and Ichigo crawled after him, grinning ravenously. They worked Tōshirō out of his jeans, shirt, and socks (Ichigo couldn't resist throwing one at him – the squawk of outrage was worth it), and then proceeded to undress Ichigo in much the same manner. The motions were unhurried and practiced. They were eager to see each other again, there was no doubt, but their appreciation for the devotion in the exposé of every phase paced them. _There was no rush_ , their hands conveyed: _I like it this way_ , murmured their lips.

Tōshirō's hands returned to the mess of orange hair once the last piece of clothing had been slung onto the carpet. He ran his supple fingers gently through the choppy locks, tickling the skin, and Ichigo hummed happily as he lowered himself down to breathe into Tōshirō's sharp collarbone. Having his hair played with was definitely his favourite part, and he was lucky to have a partner who didn't mind partaking in the simple desire.

"Could do this forever," he mumbled, sighing with satisfaction.

Underneath him Tōshirō tutted but didn't stop. "You're not doing anything."

"Could let you do this forever," Ichigo corrected, prompting a chuckle from the other.

"If you want," was the reply, and it was that more than anything that had Ichigo lifting his head to kiss, lick, and appreciate Tōshirō's neck and jaw. Mouth parting at the attention, Tōshirō tilted his head back in encouragement and then made a noise of protest when Ichigo dotted a fleeting brush of lips against his chin, and then worked his way downwards.

"I can't stroke your hair if you won't stay still," he grumbled, still trying, however, to return the affection. Ichigo rolled his eyes and swatted the reaching hands away, gazing up along Tōshirō's figure to fix him with an unruffled look.

"Well that is kind of the point."

He encouraged Tōshirō to lay back. Clearly perturbed but willing to allow Ichigo to continue, the paler man stuffed his hands under the pillow as he settled down. Pleased, Ichigo returned to his ministrations. It was difficult to ignore how aroused they both were, but disinclined to end their fun so soon he moved his way around Tōshirō's stomach and pelvis, lazily rubbing little circles into his thighs. Tōshirō was calm, spread reassuringly across the bed, with his face turned to breathe silently into the pillow. Wholly satisfied with the stark display of trust, Ichigo knew he would never be able to get enough of the taste, smell, and touch of the cool body quivering beneath his hands. Tōshirō was his to explore and cherish, and the budding thought of developing their relationship that one step further made him groan, his cock now prominently bobbing as he shuffled along the bed, adoring Tōshirō one inch at a time.

" _Fuck_ ," he hissed, startling the other into half-rising in concern. "Sorry – no, I'm alright – can we – can I – _fuck_ I really want to –"

(What could he say? 'I really want to fuck you?' Did people actually say it like that?)

As if sensing what he craved, Tōshirō glanced over at the box of lubricant lying next to him. Ichigo's gut clenched painfully – mostly in arousal, but he was nervous, too, that Tōshirō wouldn't want to go that far – and he looked over at his boyfriend hopefully, his eyes asking what his mouth couldn't.

A beat passed. A muscle in Tōshirō's stomach twitched; his breathing jumped.

"Okay," he said, a tentative smile joining the glow to his cheeks.

"You want to?" Ichigo checked, watching warily to judge the reaction.

"Yes," said Tōshirō firmly, then softer. "Yes."

Hardly daring to believe it, Ichigo reached over for the box and opened it. He looked between Tōshirō and the bottle of lube, his wet, chewed lips pressed together in a nervous line. Tōshirō had an eyebrow raised and despite being completely – wonderfully – naked, still managed to pull off his 'I'm not going to repeat myself' expression with just a large enough hint of sarcasm to make Ichigo smile.

"Okay," he said again to assure himself; it came out sounding like ' _oh god_ '. "How do you want to do this?"

Tōshirō blinked, apparently the logistics of sex being something he didn't think about ahead. "Do you want me to turn over?"

"Do _you_ want to?" asked Ichigo, receiving an eye roll. _No wait_ , he thought, _that wasn't going to get them anywhere_. "Okay, yeah, turn over then. That'll probably be easiest."

Unwinding his legs, Tōshirō turned over onto his stomach, stuffing his hands back under the pillow. Ichigo spared a moment to memorise the perfect curve of his arse, the shallow dip of his back, and the expanse of his shoulders and neck from the new point of view, tempted to get straight to smoothing his hands over the breadth of the delicate build. Instead he stretched over his boyfriend and planted a kiss into the nape of his neck, tuffs of snowy hair tickling his nose, and smiled endearingly when Tōshirō half-buried his face from view.

"Is this okay?"

Tōshirō gave a little huff. "I'll tell you if I don't like something," he promised, attempting to nudge Ichigo blindly with his foot. "Go ahead."

Feeling like an idiot for having no idea how much of the gel he should be using, Ichigo rubbed some onto his fingers. He used his other hand to trace a meaningless pattern into Tōshirō's back, willing him to relax, and gradually began to probe his slicked fingers lower and lower until one was teasing the tight rim of the entrance to Tōshirō's body. Awed, Ichigo couldn't fight back his expression of enchantment as he pushed a finger inside, the resistance he could feel in the scorching, wet muscle clamped around him not as strong as he imagined it would be. There was some, if the brief tightening of Tōshirō's body was anything to go by, so he waited a minute before wiggling experimentally.

Tōshirō startled, his expression one Ichigo had never seen on the likes of his face before. "Weird?" he guessed, because that was how he imagined it would feel.

"Very," breathed Tōshirō. He wrapped his arms around the pillow and closed his eyes as the intrusion continued to twist inside of him, his mouth open and breath panting in half-arousal and half-mortification. When Ichigo pressed for a second finger to join the first, a wince passed across Tōshirō's face, but it smoothed over as he parted his legs further, encouraging the swift thrusting movements on.

"I," began Ichigo, still marvelling at the snug, slick, _filthy_ feel of his fingers working Tōshirō open. "Am really really turned on right now."

So was Tōshirō. As with most things about the restrained eighteen year old, the extent of his pleasure was subtle. He didn't blubber profanities, moan loudly, or respond with the enthusiasm of his raging blush; his composed nature demanded that he stay quiet, remain collected, and just drop hints here and there – closed eyes, clenched hands, the occasional 'adjustment' into another position. Ichigo on the other hand knew he was more vocal – he liked to talk during sex. Not excessively, but enough to ease the awkwardness that still hung between them. Plus, if they didn't say anything about how they were feeling, then how were they supposed to know?

"I'm aware," was the mumble in reply, gasped through a smile. "Heaven forbid you're not – I can't imagine I'm doing anything wrong though I'm not doing anything."

Ichigo laughed as he added another finger: Tōshirō hardly even twitched at the intrusion, his body melted into the soft creases and folds of the duvet, delightfully peaceful. "That didn't make _any_ sense."

"…Only because your slow brain is too filled with…"

The sentence ended there. "With what?" Ichigo prompted, grinning manically at how his boyfriend had begun to rock back into him; unconscious thrusting motions drawing his fingers deeper inside. Wrapping his other arm around Tōshirō's slender waist and encouraging his hips up off the bed, Ichigo could sense every twinge of his stomach muscles, each minute tremble of his skin – there was no reply from the shuddering man: he was too lost in the depths of his pleasure; the curl of his toes; the soreness of his reddened lips, bitten and chewed.

Ichigo withdrew, and though the whine of need had surely fallen from his lips, the juddered gasp had definitely dropped from Tōshirō's.

_Fingering_ , thought the ginger, reaching over for the box of condoms to relieve the coil of fire burning in every nerve of his body, _was better than he ever imagined it would be_. He rolled one on, biting back a hiss at the ghost of his touch over the heavy, throbbing heat, and then ran his hand over Tōshirō's shoulders, dipping his head low to smell the citrus tang to the silver hair.

Tōshirō turned towards him, face alight with desire. Ichigo smiled and kissed his cheek. "You want to stay on your stomach?" he asked.

An exhausted laugh followed those words. "For simplicity's sake," Tōshirō replied, retrieving one of his hands from under the pillow. Clutching it immediately, the other shuffled back down the bed, keeping their fingers intertwined.

For all of the erotic, stunned thoughts that could have shot through his head at the first inch forward, Ichigo hadn't imagined his brain would supply a frantic 'how the hell am I even going to fit?' as the swollen head of his cock _disappeared_ between the expectant arch of his boyfriend's arse. Yet Tōshirō's body opened for him, slick with preparation and eagerness, and Ichigo eased himself in with gentle – terrified – movements. Heart hammering with an awed thrill, his blood rushing to electrify his nerves and senses, he watched the hearty swallowing of his cock until he couldn't move any further, and Tōshirō, as if not daring to believe it, released a breath.

Ichigo was honestly ready to die happy at that moment.

"Give me a minute," said Tōshirō, pleading more to the pillow he was buried in than the boyfriend hovering over him.

Dismayed that he might have caused pain, Ichigo started rubbing circles into the skin beneath him. "Does it hurt?" he whispered, giving the other's hand a squeeze.

"Not really," came the reassurance; Ichigo's shoulders slumped in relief. "You're just…"

"Big? Amazing? Unbelievable? So much better than you expected?"

Tōshirō's glare was withering. Ichigo chuckled at the familiar action and shifted, trying to get comfortable without squashing his boyfriend into the mattress. He managed to startle a light 'fuck' out of Tōshirō and promptly apologised, but a swift dismissal was murmured between a hum of happiness and Ichigo gathered that it hadn't been a pained curse. Almost dizzy with jubilance he steadied himself, grateful that Tōshirō couldn't see the triumph shining on his face.

"Go ahead," said Tōshirō just a minute later, rolling his hips tentatively, squeezing around the thick length buried inside of him. Ichigo groaned and sucked in a breath, his blood already wild with want. He pulled out and started to thrust shallowly, testing their limits as he had when he'd first given a blowjob. Again Tōshirō responded positively – a tight, searing heat bucking to match his movements – and Ichigo knew his youthful stamina wasn't going to get him far. He was too hot, too aroused, too longing to prolong his desire, and Tōshirō was already set to tip over the edge. It was clear in the way he writhed beneath the trace of Ichigo's hands and pushed towards the drive of hips persistent against his own that the bed would only be creaking briefly, the sheets would only be tangled for a moment, and the couple would be flushed and yearning all night. It would be over just as it started, but Ichigo found that he didn't care. The room was filled with so many perfectly erotic noises that he didn't really care about anything other than making them louder, faster; more his, more theirs, more everything.

"You. Need. To. Turn. Over," he said, tickling Tōshirō's shoulder with his gasps, panting in his ear. Their pace was erratic and difficult to maintain, and it would probably only become more so if Tōshirō was on his back, but they turned anyway, eager to try. Ichigo dived down and stole a kiss as he settled himself back inside – it distracted him from continuing his deep, desperate lunges, and a laugh from Tōshirō quivered between them like the gasps of their breath.

"One-track mind," he muttered, kissing Ichigo tenderly and entwined his hands in the choppy golden mane.

Ichigo almost protested, but he realised that Tōshirō's whole body was clamping around him, attempting to urge him on, and knew he would only get a disbelieving snort in response. "You don't mind," he purred instead, and the snort still came.

"You're sure of yourself."

Tōshirō was smiling; the confident shine to his eyes that Ichigo loved was back.

"Sure of you," Ichigo corrected. He kissed down the exposed jaw and neck, rocking his hips so gently he was almost swaying. Tōshirō gasped silently and his cock twitched in satisfaction. "See?" Ichigo went on, feeling the dribble of pleasure smear across his waist.

"Don't tease you prick," Tōshirō mumbled, and it was so quiet the ginger nearly didn't catch it.

He smiled endearingly. "I'm not," he promised, dropping another kiss. "God, I wouldn't."

Not when they were like this – open and vulnerable to each other.

Tōshirō hummed, gripping Ichigo's hair tighter. His alabaster legs were tucked against Ichigo's sides, as if he didn't know what to do with them, and the taller, leaner male was bowed over him, holding him to the bed, protective and ferocious. They moved as one tangle of hands, feet, and limbs, pushing together and pulling apart; the sharp, wet sounds of flesh-against-flesh were inaudible alongside their inarticulate mumblings and breathless pants of air. Ichigo groaned, the flames burning in his gut inextinguishable; he gasped for Tōshirō's lips and was rewarded with a small smile, a kiss, a question he didn't catch.

There was no time to ask for it again. Lurching forward and locking into place, firmly wrapped in the throbbing waves of Tōshirō's own release, Ichigo climaxed, shuddering, all thoughts wiped from his mind. Tōshirō arched futilely, trapped in the other's iron hold, and Ichigo groaned at the sight, wondering abruptly what it would be like to have Tōshirō ride him.

" _Jesus Christ_."

He didn't recall untangling himself and flopping onto his side, but when he next blinked, his head feeling blissfully light and empty, Tōshirō was watching him, almost nose-to-nose.

"Are you okay?"

Taking a moment to remember himself, Ichigo hummed an affirmative. "Are you?" he returned. He trailed a hand down Tōshirō's back, over his hip, and then across his stomach, taking note of the stickiness splattered across his skin.

"Need a shower," admitted Tōshirō, catching his gaze. "But I don't want to leave the room – I think I heard the car pull up."

It took Ichigo's mind a full two seconds before it understood the implications of that sentence. Horror drawing, he scanned his boyfriend's tinged features for any sign of a joke, and when he couldn't find any he bolted upright, the happy voices from downstairs filtering in through the walls.

"Shit," he hissed, embarrassment uncurling in his stomach. "Shit, shit, shit. We left everything in the living room."

He shared a look with Tōshirō. The Japanese young man looked oddly calm, and it helped quell Ichigo's raging thoughts.

"Face the music in the morning?" he suggested. If his father barged into his bedroom tomorrow morning, Ichigo was going to _kill him_.

"I don't see any other way out of this," said Tōshirō. He glanced around the room, taking in the clothes on the floor, the state of the bed, and the firmly closed door on the other side of the room. "Do you have a box of tissues?"

Ichigo laughed.

 

 

break

 

 

 

> damn you LJ I don't know what to put as a title | 18TH AUGUST 2014 09:10
> 
> Woops, haven't been here for a few weeks.
> 
> Blame **HYORINMARU10** (who is currently rolling his eyes at me for insinuating that he's a distracting so-and-so).
> 
> Yes he is.
> 
> Life has been hectic but in a good way, I think. All of my hard work has finally paid off (getting another glare for that comment – he knows what I'm implying) and I'm looking forward to going to University. There are still lots of obstacles ahead but I think I'll manage fine – we'll manage fine. The distance this stupid plane is going to put between us is going to be a problem, but I guess that's the wonder of the internet. And Skype. And porn.
> 
> Embarrassed Tōshirō? :) I will stand up so that you can't look over my shoulder if I have to.
> 
> I heard that.
> 
> I _saw_ that.
> 
> I know you're still looking.
> 
> Okay, this is starting to sound quite cheesy and I can't stand it. Tōshirō, assuming that you've recovered from your flight and have found the time to log onto LJ, message me now so that I know you haven't been locked in the plane's luggage compartment or somewhere equally small. Sarcasm won't be appreciated – I'm allowed to worry. God knows what sort of cramped places you could get stuck in. Done that? Good.
> 
> Now I just wanted to say that I hope you sleep well and don't miss me too much in the morning. Yuzu slipped that recipe into your bag by the way, so if you're feeling miserable then give it a shot and don't wreck the microwave this time. Karin says you're alright which is pretty high praise coming from her, and dad plans to set up one of those prayer/memorial things for you – he didn't take your picture at any point did he? If another poster joins the one on the wall then it's not my fault. I warned you that he was a lunatic.
> 
> Say 'hi' to your parents for me. I added our home number into your phone too, so tell them they're welcome to call at any time. I can't promise I'll know half the things they'll say so inform them that my Japanese is touch and go at best? Thanks. I'll keep practicing.
> 
> I didn't intend for this to turn into one of those romantic-movie-letter-things but I didn't intend for a lot of things so I guess this is just another one to tally. You have permission to rub this in my face for a week though. Privileges hey?
> 
> Go sleep off your jet lag and we'll talk later okay? I would say more but your flight's being called so I guess this is farewell for now.
> 
> Huh.
> 
> Will you kill me if I kiss you in front of all these people?
> 
>  

"Time to go," said Tōshirō, drawing Ichigo's attention away from his mobile. The ginger saved the livejournal entry and grinned as he imagined Tōshirō's face when he read it that night. Opposite, the Japanese young man sighed, eyebrows lifted into his hairline, and adjusted the coat over his arm. His passport and ticket were clutched in one of his small hands, and Ichigo's expression softened at the display.

There was so much he wanted to say right then – so much that he hadn't included in that entry – but amidst the clattering bustle of the airport and the crestfallen but empathetic shadow to Tōshirō's face, he found that he couldn't find the words to express their farewell.

"Thanks," Ichigo said, knowing that he would be understood. "Have a safe flight and –"

And what he didn't know, but his boyfriend smiled as if the rest of the sentence had reached him anyway, and somehow Ichigo doubted that it hadn't.

After glancing quickly side to side, Tōshirō leaned up and kissed him on the jaw. "We'll have to do this again sometime," he whispered, promising with his eyes.

Ichigo laughed wholeheartedly. "Hell yeah we'll being doing this again," he replied, and, remembering a previous thought with a crafty grin, snogged Tōshirō right there in the middle of the airport.

 

 

**End of Part IV**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you all for being so patient with me, and thank you all for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! Really, it's great to know what I'm doing is worth-while :3 Feel free to leave a comment if you want, I'd love to hear what you thought.
> 
> INDEX OF JAPANESE.
> 
> Gomenasai - Sorry


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